


Trinket

by AcelinWolf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Captivity, Dubious Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Not a Love Story, Partial Mind Control, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Sorcerers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcelinWolf/pseuds/AcelinWolf
Summary: Life isn't fair. Severin knows that better than most. Bluebloods run the world of sorcerers, and ever since he spit upon their empty promises, he's had door after door slammed in his face. But he won't be discouraged; he'll make his own way.Hugh has never met a man as brilliant and enduring as Severin. He simply must have him, and once he does, he has no intention of letting him go.
Comments: 64
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! Read the tags! ♥

The rhythmic tapping of a pen filled the silence of the little shop Severin worked at, but he couldn't hear it over the wheels turning in his head. The papers on the counter had his complete attention. One sheet was the accepted depiction of a runic spell—a compilation of runes in a specific shape and pattern. Runic spells were used to charm inanimate objects, and this particular one made its target move. 

The other sheets were sketches of it with slight variances, all done by his hand. A few crumpled papers littered the ground, but he wasn't in a hurry to pick them up. His boss, Mr. Navarro, was out for the rest of the week, and Severin was his only employee. 

A scream from outside made his hand slip, and he cursed. A millimeter deviation was all it took to render a runic spell useless. Scowling, he scribbled furiously until the paper was a mess of black ink. A therapeutic (if childish) way to release frustration. 

The bell over the door chimed, announcing a customer's presence. 

He ignored it. Most people knew what they needed when they came to Superior Charms, and those that didn't preferred to browse by themselves. 

Which was why he was surprised when a pair of freshly polished black boots came into view, breaking his concentration. 

Severin looked up and met the bluest eyes he'd ever seen—the color of the ocean on a bright summer day. 

The man they belonged to was just as distinguished, with high cheekbones, a prominent chin, and a clean shaven face. His hair, like freshly brewed coffee, was trimmed short and neat. An expensive pewter suit perfectly showcased his toned arms and broad shoulders. His evening gloves matched his charcoal shirt, and a cerulean handkerchief peaked out from his breast pocket. 

“Did the runes offend you?” 

Realizing he was staring at a stranger's attractively full lips, Severin quickly collected himself. “No.” 

“Ah, so you're an aspiring artist?” 

He couldn't tell if the man was making a joke or making fun of him—or both. Either way, he didn't like it. The answer wasn't really any of the stranger's business, but it wasn't good for business to let him think Severin had no idea what he was doing. “I was experimenting with the end rune. If you change the slant of the middle cross section by seven degrees, it strengthens the effect, but if you change it by eight, it fails. I'm trying to find the right balance.”

Expression scrutinizing, the man glanced down at the runic spell. “You're claiming countless scholars have been wrong for hundreds of years?”

That was a loaded question if he'd ever heard one. In the end, Severin shrugged. “No. I'm saying changing the slant improves the rune.”

The man was impossible to read. “And Marcel approves of this?” 

Treading carefully, Severin said, “Mr. Navarro approves of results.” Which was true. He had no idea Severin was altering the runic spells, and so long as his improvements didn't fail, Navarro would never find out. 

“Show me.”

The stranger wasn't a runic charms specialist. That was obvious based on  _ everything  _ about him. He was a blueblood or, at the very least, he came from money. The shine on his expensive boots said as much, but it was the self-important way he carried himself that made Severin believe he was a blueblood. Most of them acted like they could walk on water. 

Well, whoever he was, this man was a customer, one who knew Mr. Navarro by his first name, so Severin grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and his preferred pen. Drawing the runic spell was nearly effortless by this point, and when Severin got to the described cross section, he slowed down so the stranger could observe the adjustment he'd made. As soon as he finished, he turned the paper so the man could see the final product. 

Comprehension lit the man's eyes, so Severin could tell he knew what he was looking at. Interesting because not many chose to study runic magic. 

“I'm impressed.”

No one had ever said that to Severin before (except for Ella), and he shrugged to hide his discomfort. “It's not a big deal. It only works on small objects.”

When the man looked up, it was as if he was seeing Severin for the first time. After a moment of silence, he asked, “What's your name?” 

If he was hoping for a surname of importance, this stranger was going to be disappointed. He was a nobody. “Severin Arundel.” Technically, Quirin was his first name, but after years of having it twisted, he'd stopped using it entirely. 

Expression serious, the man said, “Own your innovations, Severin. Don't belittle them. Modesty has its place, but it's the enemy of ambition. You  _ do _ have ambitions, don't you? Or do you intend to remain employed here?” 

While Superior Charms was the best place in the city to buy charmed objects, trinkets, and toys, Mr. Navarro obviously didn't invest much into the building itself. The lighting needed to be replaced to dispel the shadows lurking in the corners, the floor was full of scuffs, and the storefront could use a makeover. 

The state of the store wasn't his fault, so Severin saw no reason to defend it. “I'm just temping here until I can get acceptance into a master's program for runic studies.”

“Why the delay?” 

Typically one started a master's program as soon as they graduated from whichever magical academy they'd attended. At twenty-one, Severin was three years past that. 

“I ran into some complications.” Which was a short way of saying that he'd burned bridges with the blueblood families who could have guaranteed him entrance into the program of his choice. Now, those same families were keeping him from getting accepted, and he was being forced to look into master programs on the other side of the country. 

So far, he'd had no luck, and even if he got accepted, he'd need to find the funds to relocate. 

“Complications?”

Severin couldn't tell if he was interested or just being polite. Either way, he kept it vague. “I cut ties with some halfwit coxcombs.” 

The man laughed, a deep and rich sound that made Severin's chest flutter. “Quite the vocabulary.”

Was that a compliment? He shrugged again, embarrassed and awkward. 

When he didn't continue, the man prompted him, “So, these halfwits took offense to your rejection?” 

That was putting it mildly. Initially, they hadn't taken him seriously, but once they realized he was, he'd become a target. His dormmates were the first to come after him because they'd assumed attacking him while he slept would be easy. After sending three of them to the medmage with serious injuries, he'd cured them of that stupidity. 

“Yeah, but I don't regret it.” 

Ever since, he'd had doors constantly slammed in his face. His enemies were powerful and influential people. Blueblood privilege was a very real problem in sorcerer society, and people like him—those raised outside of sorcerer cities—were looked down upon. That he had the so-called audacity to reject their offers of power and prestige had been an insult they couldn't let go. 

Severin said none of that. He had given more than enough information to this stranger. “If you leave a name, I'll tell Mr. Navarro you stopped by.”

Smiling, the man took off his right glove and offered his hand. “Hugh, Eamonn.”

Severin detested physical contact with nearly everyone, but he knew better than to insult an important customer (without prompt). He accepted Hugh's hand, but instead of shaking it, Hugh lowered his head to kiss the back of it. 

Severin felt himself flush and jerked his hand away as if he'd been stung. He'd never felt more off-balance in his life. People that looked like  _ him  _ never—what did it even  _ mean?  _

“Thank you for the stimulating conversation, Severin. I hope to see you again.”

“You're welcome,” he said lamely. 

Hugh left, and Severin stared at the door for a long time before remembering he should be working.

  
  
  
  


Ella Ariosto-Griffith lived in a ritzy subdivision on the outer limits of Wroevale because her husband came from a prominent blueblood family. Which wasn't even one of the top three reasons Severin hated him. 

He paused in front of a million dollar single family home with a pristine yard, a garden full of blooming flowers, and an organic garden on the side. It had a morning room that faced the sunrise, a wrap-around porch, and an expansive deck out back with a fire pit. 

All it was missing was a white picket fence to underline the domestic bliss of its inhabitants. 

Severin didn't begrudge Ella for finding happiness. If anyone deserved to be happy, it was his best friend; she was the kindest, most generous person he'd ever met. A ray of light in a dim world. Knowing that didn't quiet the jealous ache in his chest. She'd found something he wasn't certain he would ever have for himself. 

He swallowed the brewing bitterness and knocked on the door. 

“Coming!” called the voice of one of Severin's least favorite people. 

Leon Griffith opened the door, and his expression soured. 

The dislike was mutual, built through years of animosity. Leon was one of those effortlessly attractive sorts that made stubble and messy hair look sexy. His personality, however, left much to be desired. Ella swore he was a good man, but Leon and his best friend had bullied Severin relentlessly for  _ years _ . Only when he'd set his sights on courting Ella did Leon suddenly grow out his childish ways. 

Being handsome and good at sports had made him popular at their boarding school, and Leon had thrived on the attention, arrogant shit that he was. 

With a grunt, Leon turned away, letting Severin inside because his wife would give him an earful if he didn't. Ella had made it very clear that, as her friend, Severin would always be welcome in  _ their  _ home. Unfortunately, she'd also made it very clear to Severin that he wasn't to needlessly antagonize her husband and his friends. 

“I'll play nice as long as they do,” Severin had retorted. 

A long suffering sigh had been Ella's reply. 

So far, Severin and Leon had managed to avoid speaking to each other almost entirely—even at the wedding. 

“Hey,  _ Queerin _ !”

Severin bristled and directed a murderous look at the man on the couch.

He and Cyrus Lavin, on the other hand, still went at it like cats and dogs every encounter, and that wasn't likely to change. 

Cyrus smirked at Severin's reaction. 

Whereas Leon had the Griffith forest green eyes, the Lavin scion had baby blues that gave (false) credibility to the innocently charming smile he utilized like a weapon. Cyrus was very much a product of his lineage, the elite Lavin family, and it was evident in his features. The Lavin men were all ridiculously handsome, but what made Cyrus especially irritating was that he was annoyingly aware of his good looks. No one whose parents were third cousins had any business being so devilishly attractive. 

“Go fuck your sister, you inbred imbecile,” Severin snarled venemously. 

Cyrus and Leon erupted into outraged protests. 

“That's disgusting.”

“Learn how to take a joke, Queerin.”

Seething, Severin was about to unleash another insult when Ella shouted from the top of the stairs. 

_ “Hey!”  _

They all fell silent and became aware of the ear piercing cries of an infant. 

Ella stared down at them, pursing her lips. She must have recently redyed her hair because it was as fire red as her fury. “Whoever wakes the baby next gets to put him back to sleep! Got it?” 

Cyrus winced, Leon apologized, and Severin huffed. 

Looking unimpressed with the lot of them, Ella said, “Sev, upstairs,” and stormed back up the stairs, presumably to soothe the wailing infant. 

Ignoring Cyrus' smirk, Severin followed her, and as soon as he reached the baby's room, Ella thrust her son into his arms with an expectant look. Severin reflexively wrapped his arm around the infact, cradling him like he'd been taught.

“Go ahead then,” she said, folding her arms. 

Severin scowled but focused on rocking the crying baby in his arms. “I'm currently in trouble, Oliver. Please cease fussing and help me win back her favor.”

Upon hearing his voice, little Olly abruptly fell silent and blinked up at Severin with bright, teal colored eyes—a shade bluer than his mother's. His medium-brown hair was undoubtedly from his father, but other than that, he didn't understand how people could say 'he has his father's chin' or 'he has his mother' s nose' with any sort of accuracy. Babies all looked rather similar in his opinion. 

Ella huffed. “He was  _ just _ starting to fall asleep. He's been a handful today.”

Severin continued to rock the boy. Luckily, this apparently wasn't one of Olly's tantrums, and he seemed content to be held as his tears dried. 

“So, wanna tell me what Cyrus said that got to you  _ this time _ ?” 

He gave her a half-hearted glare for her tone. “I'm just sick of that ridiculous nickname.”

“Sev…” Ella sighed. “When someone pushes you down in the sandbox, you don't stab them with the toy shovel.”

“Maybe  _ you  _ don't,” Severin groused.

Ella sighed. 

Severin almost felt bad, but really, Cyrus had started it. Ella couldn't possibly understand how tired he was of being mocked and ridiculed by that idiot. 

As he continued to rhythmically rock Olly, he felt his anger lessen. Maybe that had been her plan. Placate him with the baby. Fine. Two could play that game. He leaned down to faux-whisper to the baby. “Your mother can't admit it, but she doesn't like Cyrus either.” 

Ella rolled her eyes. “Don't say stuff like that to him,” she said, but she didn't sound very upset. 

“See, Oliver? She didn't deny it.”

“Sev!” 

She wanted to sound exasperated, but Severin could hear her amusement. “What? He's a brute, and the brat can't understand us anyway. Can you, Oliver?” 

Olly stared and slowly reached for Severin's face with tiny fingers. 

Severin jerked back with a startled sound, and Ella laughed. 

“He's not got the plague, Sev.” She held out her arms.

“He's a baby. He's got every plague _. _ Children are germ factories.” Despite all his 'I don't like kids' posturing, he was slow to hand Olly back to his mother. 

Severin had been terrified when Ella announced she was pregnant with Leon Griffith's baby—(Would Leon now try once again to end his and Ella's friendship? Would he and Ella drift apart as their lives diverged?)—but Severin had grown fond of baby Oliver very quickly. 

He'd never spent much time around babies, so he was learning as he went along. Really, they were figuring it out together. And by that, he meant that she shared everything she learned, and sometimes he would retaliate by sharing obscure, grim facts he'd researched. 

_ “Did you know babies should only sleep on their backs? ” _

_ “Do you know why infants under a year old can't have honey?”  _

_ When he'd explained why, Ella had thrown out the honey her husband had bought from the local farmers market.  _

_ “Babies supposedly discover their hands and feet at three months old.” _

_ “Do you know how many children a year nearly die from swallowing foreign objects?”  _

_ That one had backfired when Ella made him go through the entire house with her, locking up anything Olly might one day try to eat—no matter that he hadn't even been born yet.  _

Severin watched as Ella took over rocking her son. “Why's he in bed so early?” Babies his age slept a lot, but Olly's bedtime was at eight. Not seven. 

“He was getting super cranky. We figured it wouldn't do any harm.” Ella suddenly sounded unsure. “Were we wrong?” 

Severin shrugged. He really had no idea but, “I don't think babies are as fragile as that.” If they were, certainly his own parents wouldn't have been able to keep  _ him _ alive. 

Ella laughed, unaware of his thoughts, and once Olly was fast asleep in his crib, she led him to the family room—which was thankfully nowhere near Leon or Cyrus. She got them ice cold bottles of beer (a much more expensive brand than Severin was accustomed to), and they sat on the leather couch, facing each other with their legs intertwined. 

She asked him how his apprenticeship was going; was he learning anything? Brutally honest as he was, he said he'd come to accept that Mr. Navarro wasn't interested in teaching him much. The old man just wanted cheap labor. It didn't bother him, he insisted, because Mr. Navarro had promised to write him a good recommendation for any program he desired (and Severin had gotten that promise in writing). 

“Are you making enough?” 

He wasn't. Rent was going to be late again—eating less hadn't helped save enough to afford his tiny apartment—but whenever he admitted to his monetary problems, he could see her fight the urge to fix it. She would give him money whenever he needed it, but she knew he wouldn't accept it. 

So, he shrugged as if to say 'what can you do? and asked her how she was doing with being a (temporary) housewife. Just like he'd known she would, she ranted about how she couldn't wait to go back to school. She had plans to become a teacher at Yuserry, the primary school sorcerer children in Wroevale attended before going to Glorarry. 

Sometime during his second drink, he found enough courage to say, “A customer kissed my hand today.”

Ella's eyes widened, but her excitement was short-lived. “Wait. Was it creepy or was it sexy?” 

“ _ Definitely  _ sexy.”

She squealed and sat forward. “Tell me everything!”

He relayed the encounter, including a very detailed description of Hugh that made Ella waggle her eyebrows appreciatively. 

When he was done, she grinned and said, “Sounds like you really caught his eye.”

Severin snorted. He was lanky, pale, and had a crooked nose (from being broken one too many times), and almost all of his clothes were secondhand. His eyes were the color of undisturbed mud, and his dusty brown hair was plain. Not to mention he had little interest in non-academic pursuits, so his social life was stunted, which was why Ella had been his only friend for the majority of his life. 

“Oh, please. What would a blueblood want with  _ me _ ?” 

She lightly smacked him on the arm as a 'don't say shit like that' reprimand. “Not all bluebloods think like that.”

No, but many of them did, and it was getting worse because of a new political movement that was gaining popularity—inspired by the rhetoric of a ghost-like sorcerer who called himself Lord Wraith. Severin really didn't want to get into the philosophy behind their politics because, fuck, some part of him agreed there  _ was  _ an issue with sorcerers being raised outside of sorcerer cities. He certainly hadn't had an easy time, and Ella (who had been adopted), knew even less about sorcerer culture. Being sent to Glorarry had been a culture shock for her. 

In the end, he made a noncommittal sound. 

“Did he give off that vibe?” she asked. 

Severin gave it some thought. “Suppose not.” Which made his alcohol-addled mind suggest ways he could find out for sure. 

“See? There's hope!” 

“We didn't exactly exchange numbers,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. 

Ella grinned, unconcerned with logic or reason. “I bet he'll be back.”

Severin took a swig of beer. “I see your bet and raise you a 'I'll probably never see him again.' ”

Oh, but how he wanted to. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments! :D They really helped motivate me to write faster, so keep 'em coming if you'd be so kind. ♥ I'm so glad y'all are enjoying it.

Ella won their bet. 

Hugh returned three days later, mere hours after Mr. Navarro had returned from his trip. Severin hadn't yet had a chance to update his boss on what he'd missed because Mr. Navarro had gone straight into the backroom and said he wasn't to be disturbed. Severin didn't get paid enough to put up with his boss' temper, so he left him alone and returned to work. 

Around noon, just as Severin was about to take a lunch break, the bell chimed and Hugh entered the store. 

“I'll get Mr. Navarro, shall I?” Severin said. 

Hugh smiled as though he'd heard an entertaining joke. “Hello to you as well, Severin, and yes, thank you.”

Embarrassed by what seemed like a chastisement, he hurried away. As expected, his boss wasn't happy when he knocked on the door. 

“I said no disturbances, boy!” 

Mr. Navarro yanked the door open, wrinkled face twisted with anger. His thin, white hair was wilder than usual, like he hadn't tended to it in days. 

“You have a guest, sir,” Severin said blandly, not the least bit intimidated. 

When Mr. Navarro cast a glance over his shoulder, Severin saw the moment fury was replaced by fear. 

Mr. Navarro was afraid of Hugh. 

That confirmed that Hugh was someone of importance, and if that was true, Lucien would know him. From one of the oldest blueblood families in the world, Lucien Renard knew everyone who was anyone. Severin was going to ask him as soon as he had a chance and put this mystery to rest. 

“Hello, Marcel,” Hugh said, greeting him as one might an old acquaintance. “Let's speak privately, shall we?” 

“Of course, of course. Right this way.”

Questions buzzed through Severin's mind until he couldn't help himself. He had to know. Like removing a blindfold, it took a moment for his vision to adjust once he freed his power and he could once more see as nature intended. A kaleidoscope of colors lit the room as his sensate ability detected the magic of every object in the store—but nothing compared to the blinding aura of Hugh's magic. A deep, shimmering amethyst, he burned like the sun in a room full of Christmas lights. 

Severin could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen such power. 

It was breath-taking, but he hadn't survived this long by getting involved in business that didn't concern him. He put a lid on his power, tore his gaze from Hugh, and returned to his work. Charming brooms to clean automatically didn't take much focus for him, but he damn well could pretend it did. 

Mr. Navarro led Hugh up the creaky wooden staircase, but Severin didn't look up from his work until he heard the door close upstairs. 

His growling stomach filled the silence, and he sighed. Lunch was going to be delayed until Mr. Navarro returned. He couldn't leave the front of the store unattended if he wanted to keep his job. Thankfully, within a few minutes he had a steady stream of customers to distract him. 

As he was helping the forth customer, footsteps descending the stairs behind Severin put him on high alert. He glanced over and saw Hugh, but was surprised to find Mr. Navarro wasn't with him. 

Putting the matter aside, he focused on the latest customer, listening as she described all the charms she wanted her husband's ring to have. Custom orders made up a large percent of their business—and he enjoyed the challenge they often posed—but he loathed dealing with customers that held little understanding of magical theory. 

Which, unfortunately, was most of them. 

After explaining to her for the third time that no charm could keep her husband from cheating, she called the store a scam and stormed off. 

Severin face-planted on the desk in absolute exasperation, but a familiar chuckle startled him into straightening up. 

Hugh was watching him from the base of the stairs. 

Noticing Mr. Navarro was still suspiciously absent, Severin frowned. “You didn't kill him did you?” was out of his mouth as soon as the question crossed his mind. It was the sort of question he might ask Lucien who was familiar with his humor—not a stranger. 

Surprisingly, an amused smirk lit Hugh's features as he approached the front counter. “Do I strike you as a killer?” he asked with a laugh. 

It was probably a joke, but Severin gave him a long, considering look. “Most killers don't look like killers though, do they? Hence the whole 'he was always so nice' spiel neighbors always give about serial killers. Meanwhile, said neighbor kills people so he can wear their skin.”

Hugh furrowed his brows, and Severin realized that if he  _ was _ a blueblood, he wouldn't have grown up watching the same television programs Severin had. Magic had been a taboo topic in his household. His father loathed it and couldn't even stand hearing the word, so sorcerer television programs had obviously been out of the question. 

“Sorry,” Severin said. Then, seeing his opportunity to test how Hugh felt about non-sorcerers, he added, “I grew up outside of the city.” 

Hugh gave him a thoughtful look. “That must have been hard.”

No pity, no judgment. 

_ One point for Hugh.  _

It had been hard, but Severin didn't like talking about it. He shrugged and, amateur that he was at polite conversation with strangers, let silence fall between them. 

Hugh broke it. “Rest assured your boss is very much alive and well.”

“Pity,” Severin quibbed. 

With an amused half smile, Hugh said, “Were you looking forward to the time off?”

Severin snorted. “Time off? What's that?” According to his work contract, he could theoretically take one day off a week, but Mr. Navarro didn't force him to, and because he needed the money, he rarely did. 

His stomach decided to make its hunger known with an embarrassingly loud rumble. Ella was spoiling him if he couldn't go a single morning without eating. More often than not, he left her home with some kind of food or another, mostly leftovers and baked goods, and he ate that before work. Last night, he'd left with nothing, hence no breakfast. 

Hugh glanced at the clock. “Am I keeping you from lunch?” 

“Yeah.”

Head snapping back to Severin, Hugh let out a single surprised laugh. “Such honesty. It's refreshing.”

Unsure of what to say—that seemed to be happening a lot with Hugh—Severin shrugged. 

If Hugh noticed how awkward he felt, he didn't comment on it. “I'm going out of town today, but when I return, may I take you out to dinner?” 

_ What?  _

Severin felt his brain come to a screeching halt. He almost thought he'd heard wrong because he couldn't fathom what a man of Hugh's power and (assumed) status would want with him. If his dormmates had taught him anything, it was that bluebloods almost always had ulterior motives. That's how they were raised—give to get. You didn't maintain fortune and status by being charitable or making useless allies. 

“Why?” he asked carefully, failing to hide his suspicion. 

Hugh raised his brows. “Why?” he echoed questioningly. 

“Why would you want to?” Severin clarified. “Everyone wants something, and I don't have anything to give you.”

Hugh blinked slowly. “That's a rather self-deprecating way to look at it. You don't trust easily, do you?” Then, he reached into his pocket, produced a compact leather journal and a pen, and put the items on the counter. “You don't have to make up your mind now.”

Severin frowned at the objects, itching to analyze them. “What's this?” 

“A little something of my own creation. If you use the pen to write in that book, I'll be able to read it in mine and reply back.” Hugh withdrew a second leather book and showed it to Severin before pocketing it once more. “Perhaps by the time I return we'll be better acquainted.”

That was brilliant. Like a cell phone. Not all sorcerers liked to use non-magical technology, but Severin wasn't one of them. He just couldn't afford the bill. 

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he picked up the pen and read its aura, eager to decipher how it worked. “What runes were used to make them?” he asked, studying the pen like it was a rare archeological find. 

Hugh chucked. “Promise you'll consider dinner with me, and I'll tell you.”

His concentration shattered. Severin looked up, suddenly feeling like a rabbit staring down a wolf. If Hugh was genuinely interested in him for reasons beyond comprehension, then this was a dance he didn't know the steps to. 

Heart fluttering—fear of the unknown sending him into flight-or-fight mode—Severin considered his options logically, trying and failing to find the danger in promising to  _ consider  _ it. Consideration wasn't a commitment, and truth be told, Severin didn't want to find a reason to say no. He'd never gotten attention like this before. It was different. It was  _ nice _ , and he wasn't asexual. He had needs. 

“Okay,” he agreed. 

Hugh unleashed a smile. “Good. I have to go, but I'll send you the information as soon as I can.” He tapped the notebook to indicate how he planned to do so and said, “Take care, Severin.”

Severin watched him go, using his sensate sight to catch a glimpse of Hugh's magic one last time.

_ Like the fucking sun _ , and Severin was an insect drawn to his light. 

  
  
  
  


When he went to tell Mr. Navarro he was going to take his lunch break, his boss did something he'd never done before. 

“Take the rest of the day off, boy. I'm closing shop. Got business to attend to.”

Less hours meant less money, but he knew better than to question the old man. Though worried about how he'd get by with a smaller paycheck, he decided to head to Lucien's as intended. 

Teleporting was very energy-consuming, but it was free. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. 

He appeared on the edge of the property in the blink of an eye, just outside the wards. The Renard estate was as extravagant and overindulgent as its patriarch. A grand Victorian-style manor (with more rooms than any sane person could have use for) drew the eye even from a distance. Neatly trimmed evergreens (regularly pruned) lined the winding driveway. Trumpeter swans sang from the man-made ponds, and though none were currently in sight, Severin knew pearl white peafowl wandered the grounds freely. Descendants of a pair Lucien's great-great-grandmother had been given by her husband. 

A flutter of wings. “Ah hoo!” 

Severin startled and turned to glare at the offending peahen. 

“Shoo, you pretentious chicken!” he said, trying and failing to usher the fowl away. This particular female liked to honk at and chase unsuspecting visitors. An absolute menace if you asked him, but she was Lucien's favorite. 

Severin picked up the pace, ignoring his avian stalker. By the time he reached the fountain centered in front of the house, in the middle of the circular driveway, the peahen gave one last honk and scurried off. 

Adjusting his collar (as if that could mend his dignity), Severin shot the retreating bird a scowl and continued past the twin fox statues that guarded the stairs leading to the front door. It opened before he could knock, and the servant stepped out of the way so he could enter. That was all the invitation he needed, well aware that he would have been turned away if the master of the manor was unavailable. 

Lucien was in his office, exactly where expected, studiously searching through a stack of papers with a thoughtful frown. His long, golden brown hair was tied back to keep it out of his eyes, something he mostly did when faced with a task that required absolute concentration. Like most bluebloods Severin had met, he chose his clothes like a knight chose his weapons—meticulous and with purpose. Their preferred battlegrounds might be board meetings and cocktail parties, but they were no less cutthroat. 

The older man didn't notice he had a guest, so Severin knocked on the open door after a few moments. 

Pale, cold blue eyes snapped upwards, fixing him with an impatient stare that had no doubt caused many sorcerers to falter. “Yes, Severin?” 

So, it was  _ not _ a good time to ask if he knew a man named Hugh Eamonn. 

Whatever had Lucien occupied was clearly stressful. Someone else might have asked what had him so ruffled, but Severin knew better. Lucien was the only blueblood who hadn't turned his back on him, but he was very much associated with the mysterious Lord Wraith. Lucien had taken him under his wing for reasons Severin never really understood (though Lucien had said it was because he saw his potential), helping him adjust to life at Glorarry. 

Eventually, they'd accepted their differing opinions on the matter—Lucien a staunch believer in pureblood supremacy and Severin refusing to get involved in politics of any sort. To avoid arguing (and avoid getting a lecture about how he was wasting his potential), Severin always steered clear of inquiring after Lucien's extracurricular activities. 

“Can I borrow a book?” he asked, switching tasks. 

“That depends. Which one?”

Having expected that answer, he said, “When I find it, I'll let you know.”

Lucien waved him off, and heeding the dismissal, Severin headed to the library. He was determined to figure out how the pen and notebook worked, and he started by checking to see if Hugh had provided the requested information. 

He had. 

Severin traced the page, marveling at the journal and the runic spell that made it possible. He wasn't necessarily surprised that Hugh had kept his word, only that he'd felt the need to. Such valuable knowledge in exchange for a dinner with  _ him _ was an terrible trade. 

He inspected the rest of the notebook. On the outside, it appeared to be ordinary. Just a brown leather-bound journal. All of the pages were blank. He wanted to take the pen and try writing in it, but the knowledge that Hugh would receive whatever he wrote made him decide to wait.

After memorizing the runic spell, Severin got to work, making use of the more obscure tombs the Renard family library gave him access to. It wasn't easy. One of the runes was extraordinarily rare, and he wasn't sure which book would have more information on it. 

He lost himself in the task, plucking book after book from the shelf, searching through it, taking notes, and moving on to the next one. Lost in his mind as he was, he didn't immediately react to the sound of crying, but even the most distracted mind couldn't ignore the shrill cry of an infant for long. 

Severin abandoned his work and went in search of two month old Caius, finding him crying in the bassinet in the nursery. Wrapped up as he was, only the baby's bronze skin and golden bronze hair was visible—features that made him resemble his mother more than his father. 

Speaking of, he'd expected to find Nerissa Renard with her son (or at least the nanny), but the room was otherwise empty. 

“What's wrong, Caius?” he asked gently. Figuring Lucien wouldn't appreciate having his work disturbed, Severin gently scooped the infant onto his arms and began to sway rhythmically, trying to soothe him. “Need a new nappy? Hungry? Just feeling dramatic?” 

Caius continued to cry, but Severin didn't take it personally. 

Lucien suddenly appeared in the doorway, out of breath and eyes zeroing in on his son. “What's wrong?” he asked, reaching for Caius. 

Severin handed him over. “Hell if I know. Where's Nerissa?” 

“Out with her sister.”

Nerida was in town? He'd only met her once, but Severin loathed that woman. “I'm sorry.”

Lucien smiled wryly. “I'll send her your regards, shall I?” 

Severin made a face. “No, please.”

Caius cried louder, and Lucien frowned. 

“Maybe he's hungry?” Severin suggested. 

Lucien, who knew even less about babies than he did, glanced from Caius to Severin and back again. Looking conflicted, he said, “Take him. The bottle is in the fridge. Second shelf on the left.”

“Absolutely not,” Severin said, folding his arms behind his back. 

“I abandoned an important phone call to answer his cries.”

Unimpressed with the excuse, Severin scoffed. “Take that up with your son.”

“I'll pay you.”

Oh, but Severin wasn't going to fall for that again. “How much?” 

Lucien smiled, evidently proud that Severin had learned his lesson—to make payment clear upfront. “Fifteen.”

“Fifty.” 

“You're feeding a baby. Not performing surgery.”

Severin hated accepting money, but he had no problem earning it. “It's not like you can't afford it.”

Lucien laughed. “The key to keeping wealth? Never accept the first offer. Thirty, Severin, and you can borrow a book.” 

That was the best he was going to get. “Fine.”

Only after handing over his son did Lucien ask, “Do you even know how to feed a baby?” 

Severin shot him an offended look, like it wasn't a perfectly acceptable question. “I've fed Oliver a few times.”

Lucien's eyes grew cold. “Don't mention that woman's spawn while holding my son.”

Ella and Lucien didn't get along. Never had, never would. 

He despised her kind, those raised outside of sorcerer cities with no ties to the sorcerer world. Though Severin had been raised outside the city, his mother was a sorcerer and had exposed him to some aspects of their society and culture. He'd even visited the city a few times as a boy, before his father—

Severin despised thinking about that man. 

Ella hated Lucien in turn, hated his ideology and his pretentious nature. It also didn't help that he regularly called her a  _ kout _ to her face, a slur used to refer to those raised without social connections to the sorcerer world. Many bluebloods saw them as uncultured and thus a danger to the true sorcerer way of life. 

Out of respect for Severin, Lucien has ceased using that word around him—or maybe he was simply tired of arguing—but he'd never stopped insulting her. Luckily for Lucien, Severin didn't think snapping at him would help soothe Caius, so he sent the older man a heated glare. 

As Lucien turned to leave, Severin remembered why he'd come to the manor in the first place. “Wait. There's a man that's been coming to the shop. Possibly a blueblood. Ocean blue eyes, nearly-black hair, tall. Do you know him?”

Lucien was five years older than Severin, and Hugh looked to be around that age. The likelihood that they'd met was high; many bluebloods ran in the same circles. He didn't give Hugh's name, however, wanting Lucien to use it to confirm he knew the man before Severin revealed too much. 

Lucien raised a brow, clearly curious. “Was he about twenty?” 

“No. Your age.”

Disregarding the first suspect, Lucien said, “Has an accent?” 

“No.”

“Pale skin?” 

“A bit tanned, actually.”

“Hm. No one comes immediately to mind. I'll give it some thought.”

“Thanks.”

Lucien returned to work, leaving Severin alone with a crying baby and a building headache. 

  
  
  
  


Despite what he told Lucien, he wasn't at all confident in his ability to bottle feed a baby, but he'd watched Ella do it (and had helped a few times). In the end, he managed, and once Caius started suckling, he drank with vigor. 

Severin wasn't entirely sure how much Caius should drink. The whole bottle, or would he stop drinking when he was done? 

Why on Earth did Lucien think it was a good idea to leave him alone with a baby? 

Despite all of his uncertainty, Severin managed to get Caius fed and was only spit up on once. Gross as it was, a quick cleaning charm remedied the problem, and after burping Caius for a final time, he called it a job well done. 

With a full belly and a fresh nappy, Caius gurgled happily in Severin's arms. Since he wasn't sure what to do now, he decided it was Lucien's problem. He'd fed and quieted the man's son. Lucien could take over from here. 

As he approached the office, however, a familiar voice made Severin groan inwardly. Niall Wyndham. One of his dormmates who'd been quite relentless in teaching him “his place”—and quite vocal amongst his peers in his support for Lord Wraith. He was an elitist, a bully, and a sadist. 

“—now that he's publicly claimed support for his death,” Wyndham was saying. “He's got 'em running scared.”

Severin knew he shouldn't be listening in, but it was too late. Whose death? Who claimed support? No, he didn't want to know. He didn't want to be involved in this.

Rather than turning around or lingering outside the door, he entered the office like a man on a mission, pointedly not looking at Wyndham. “Done,” he said, eyes locked on Lucien. 

The other man's expression was unreadable, but he didn't sound irritated when he replied. “Thank you.”

“Well, well,” Wyndham said with a feral grin. “Looks like you finally found a use for Arundel after all.”

They may no longer be schoolboys, but Wyndham hadn't changed. He was still as unpleasant to be around as he was to look at. He wasn't  _ ugly _ in the traditional sense, but his magical aura was repulsive. It always made Severin sick, like having cockroaches crawling over his skin. That's what Wyndham reminded him of. A cockroach in human form. A cockroach in a three piece suit with sepia eyes and a curtain of onyx hair. 

Severin gave Wyndham an unimpressed look. “Maybe if you learned a thing or two about children, you might be able to attract a wife.”

Wyndham's face twisted in fury. “Like I'm gonna listen to a fag give advice about women.”

“Suit yourself. The gene pool will be better off if you never breed anyway.”

“You little—” 

“Enough, gentlemen,” Lucien drawled. Restoring order, he addressed Severin first. “Thank you for your assistance. Payment will be in your account by the end of the day.”

Recognizing the dismissal, he handed Lucien his son, and as he made a swift retreat, he heard Lucien say, “We will continue this conversation later, Niall.”

Not interested in a second run-in with Wyndham, Severin quickened his step, stopping only to grab the book he was promised he could borrow, and teleported to Ella's. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments! They're like fuel for the story! ♥ Even a short comment is better than none, in my opinion. Anyway, enjoy Chapter 3! I hope the story doesn't feel like it's going to slowly. Let me know. :)

“So, you're going to write to him, right?” Ella asked as soon as Severin finished recapping his strange day at work. 

They were sitting on the living room floor with Olly who was sprawled out on his back on an activity mat, clumsily rattling a colorful little toy. Ella said he was just beginning to grasp objects for short periods, so when he dropped his toy, Severin was ready; he plucked it up, made a face at the coating of slimy saliva, and gave it right back to the infant.

Olly giggled and waved it around, feet kicking excitedly. 

It was  _ almost  _ cute—until Olly dropped the toy again, and Severin had to retrieve it once more. 

Hm. Maybe he could make a custom toy for the boy—and why not Caius as well? 

Serverin the toymaker.

“And say what exactly?” he replied, picking up his fork and spearing another canned ravioli. It wasn't great, but it was free. 

Ella had offered to make him lunch when she found out he hadn't eaten today, but he'd declined. She'd already cooked for herself, and he wasn't going to ask a new mother to cater to him. She looked as tired as she felt. Ella, however, wasn't about to let him starve and told him to make himself something from the pantry while she finished feeding Olly. 

“How about 'yes to dinner, but only if it comes with you as dessert.'”

Severin gave her a  _ look _ , but she just grinned, unabashed. 

“No,” he said just in case it wasn't abundantly clear. 

“How about a simple hi?” 

That earned her a noncommittal grunt. He didn't like that suggestion either, but he didn't have a better one. 

“Tell me what you like about him,” Ella said. 

Severin huffed. “Never said I did.”

She stared at him until he sighed and relented. 

“Fine.” Putting it into words was harder than he thought. Why  _ was  _ he attracted to Hugh? Was it purely physical? “He's intelligent but isn't closed to new ideas, new knowledge, and he's…alluring. His magic is—” 

Ella knew of his sensate abilities. She was one of the few people that did, but it still wasn't easy to convey what he 'saw.' How could you describe a rainbow to a man born blind, describe music to a man who’d never experienced sound? It was a sixth sense, rare and not well studied, so he had no clinical terms at his disposal. 

“—bright,” he finished. 

Ella's eyebrows raised because she knew that intensity had to do with raw power, and it was that power that made her cautious. “He's not, you know, one of Wraith's supporters?” 

Bluebloods made up a large part of Lord Wraith's followers but, “I don't think so. He didn't seem to have a problem that I wasn't born and raised within Wroevale.”

Ella looked relieved. She didn't always express it, but he knew she was worried he would be tempted to fall in with Wraith's followers. Not because he necessarily believed their philosophies but because in school they'd tolerated him when no one else would. Severin wasn't stupid. It had almost certainly been Lucien's doing. When an upperclassman of his status wanted someone to feel welcome, you made them feel welcome. 

His dorm mates had never really been his friends.

_ Ella _ was his friend. 

He'd turned away from the path he'd been on for the sake of their friendship, and he didn't regret it. “Think I should start the conversation with that? 'Hello. My friend would like to know if you're a revolutionary bigot.'”

“Pfft. Sure. Blame me.”

“When it suits me.”

“Jerkass.”

“When it suits me.”

They grinned at each other, sharing a moment of amusement until Ella abruptly asked, “Can you watch Olly? I haven't had a chance to shower today.”

What did he look like, the communal babysitter? Why hadn't Leon watched Olly do his wife could shower? What a worthless husband. Another day, he may have said exactly that, but today he wasn’t interested in the argument it would start. “Sure. Where's the remote?” 

He ate another ravioli as she turned the TV on, but before she could pass him the remote, the picture on the screen caught their attention. 

It was a man in a pale mask, plain white with a sharp nose and a flat mouth, the corners turned upwards into a condescending smile. Almond-shape holes marked the eyes, and in the center of his forehead was a maroon diamond rune that roughly meant ‘the beginning of something, the actualization of potential.’ The hood of his black cloak was pulled up and shielded the rest of his body from scrutiny. He stood with his arms behind his back, giving him a statue-like stillness that was unsettling, like a commander assessing his troops. 

The caption at the bottom read “Lord Wraith releases video; claims responsibility for Councilor McNeil's death!” in big bold letters. 

“Fuck,” Ella said. 

Severin couldn't have said it better. 

“I thought he died of natural causes?”

“Apparently not,” Severin muttered. McNeil had died rather suddenly this past summer, but he hadn’t cared and hadn’t thought to question it. 

“—council will tell you his death was a tragedy,” the masked man, Wraith, was saying, “but the millions that suffered at his hand know the truth. I promise you, my fellow citizens, that together we will eliminate corruption as I have eliminated him. We will restore our cities to greatness, and every citizen will have a voice. We will preserve our culture and close our borders to the outsiders that threaten it and those that refuse to adapt to our way of life.” 

“Who exactly is he defining as  _ outsiders _ ?” Ella demanded. 

Wasn't it obvious? “Other magical races, including shifters, people like us, magless—” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ella snap her head towards him and looked to find her giving him a disapproving look. “Sorry.” Magless was rather impolite slang for magic-less people. Not as bad as kout, however, but almost exclusively used in a prejudiced way. 

She didn’t need to ask where he’d learned it. 

“—and stand with us. Together we will take back our cities and replace the council with a system that works for everyone.” 

The video cut off. 

Tense silence filled the room until Olly made a fussy sound and farted. 

“Well said.” Ella laughed, picked up her son, and snuggled him. 

Severin let out a soft laugh and unclenched his fists. 

“Do you think it's true?” Ella asked, bouncing Olly. 

“That he killed McNeil? Likely. Why else publicly claim responsibility? Doing so just made him the council's number one enemy.” 

Making a fool of the council was not productive to living a long life. One didn’t get onto the council by being philanthropist. They were some of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, magically and influentially, and each ruled the sorcerers of their territory with absolute authority. The United States was divided into five territories and was thus home to five councilors—meaning Wraith had just made five powerful enemies.

Ella looked him in the eyes. “You don't agree with him do you?” 

Severin wouldn't lie to her. “I think…the council is outdated. I think we need a new system.”

Her tone could have given third degree burns when she said, “And you think a murderer in a mask that hates people like us is the way to go about it?” 

“I didn't say that,” Severin replied calmly. “I can see why he appeals to some though. The blueblood supremacists, prejudiced people, or simply those who feel ending the council is more important than anything else.”

Ella did  _ not  _ like that. Not one bit. “Like Renard?” 

She was itching for a fight, but he wasn't willing to engage. Neither she nor Lucien were rational when it came to his friendship with the other, but he valued them both. 

Ella had been his first (and for a long time his  _ only _ ) friend, but her parents hadn't liked him very much. A poor and unruly boy from the wrong side of town, a bad influence—that’s how most adults had viewed him and he did little to persuade them otherwise. 

Truthfully, he'd been a horrid child, but considering his homelife…

It had taken Severin's drunkard of a father killing his mother in a fit of rage for Ella’s parents to finally softened towards him, but they hadn't been willing to take him in. Ella had cried and begged, but to not avail. 

If not for Lucien's unexpected charity—

The Renard lord had opened his home to seventeen-year-old Severin, giving him a stable place to stay for the summer before his final year of school. He'd done more for Severin in a summer than his own parents had in seventeen years. No words could adequately express his gratitude. 

“Give me Oliver and go get your shower,” he said rather than fight. 

“You know I'm right,” Ella insisted. “He's dangerous, Sev.”

“So am I.” Severin was no longer a small, skinny schoolboy. He'd learned to defend himself by any means necessary—including many spells Ella didn't approve of. 

He held out his arms expectantly. 

She rolled her eyes, kissed Olly on the cheek, and handed him over. 

  
  
  
  


After showering, Ella asked him to stay over, at least until Leon returned home. Severin wasn't sure if she wanted additional protection for Olly, or if she just wanted to keep an eye on  _ him _ , but he agreed regardless. None of his other plans were pressing, and he could head to work from her home as easily as his own. 

They took Olly for a walk, which Severin didn't understand the point of, but Ella insisted fresh air and sunshine would do them all good. Severin, for one, didn't enjoy the cold, but at least there wasn't snow (which wasn't too unusual for early December). Olly was bundled up tightly in the stroller, covered with a unicorn themed blanket. 

Severin adamantly refused to push it. Not because he was averse to the idea but because he was occupied. Keeping one hand on the wand in his pocket (his preferred magical focus), he actively scanned their surroundings as they walked. 

Ella lived in a ritzy suburb, one that contained more than a few blueblood families. To his knowledge, no one had ever made her feel unsafe here, but it was possible Wraith's message would emboldened an idiot or two. Anyone who read the tabloids would know Ella's background because her husband was well-known as his father's only heir, and complete strangers had made their displeasure with the match known. She'd been called a kout and a gold-digger by scorned bluebloods, but she'd faced each insult with her head held high.

In public, at least. In private, Severin had held her when she cried, listened when she'd needed to rant, and bitched with her when she'd needed an echo chamber. 

They made it back to her house without incident, and the rest of the day went by quietly. When ten at night rolled around and Leon still hadn't returned, Ella set up the guest room for him to stay the night. 

“It's hectic at the station right now,” Ella explained as she brought him an extra pillow. “There's a lot of pressure to catch Wraith.” 

It would likely be hectic for quite some time, but Severin didn't point that out. 

After showering (he  _ loved  _ her bath; the heat and pressure was way better than in his shitty apartment), he pulled out the journal and pen from his bag. Opening it to the first blank page, a dozen opening lines went through his mind, but none of them felt natural. Nothing felt  _ right.  _

Trying to get to know people was nerve-wracking. The fear they would see right past his carefully refined persona to the poor, lacking person he really was…

_ “It doesn't matter how well Lucien dresses you up. You'll always be a mongrel, feral and unpolished,” Nerissa's sister's voice echoed in his mind, her Greek accent thick. “Your mother’s blueblood tarnished by that filthy magless she called a husband.” _

Fuck it. Severin didn't need anyone's approval. Certainly not a stranger's. He put pen to paper and wrote what he wanted, asking the most pressing question on his mind. 

_[Does what I write appear instantly, or does it take time to send?]_  


For a moment, he stared at the page, as if expecting an immediate reply. 

Nothing happened. 

He refused to acknowledge his disappointment. Hugh was probably sleeping. Severin should be as well but his mind was too loud. Opening a book he'd borrowed from Ella, he settled in for a long night. 

Sometime later, he was startled awake by an unmemorable dream. Anxiety was all that lingered. 

The clock read 3:00 AM. 

Tired but alert, he considered continuing to read, but then he remembered the journal and quickly checked it. 

A neat, unfamiliar scrawl had appeared beneath his question while he slept. 

_[Instantly.]_  


He would have liked to know he had a message waiting. Ideas ran through his mind, ways to improve the product. Would Hugh be offended if he experimented with his creation? [ _ Do you mind if I try to add a 'new message' alert feature? Something subtle.]  
_

_[Not at all. Do you require a separate journal set to work with?]_  


That was a generous offer. Far from sounding annoyed, it seemed as though Hugh wanted to encourage his curiosity. For Severin, who had been ridiculed for his intelligence more times than he could recall, that was indescribably attractive. 

_ [Not sure yet. I'll let you know.]  
_

Severin didn't want the conversation to die off, so he wrote, [ _ What business took you out of town?]  _ Not trying to snoop so much as make small talk, which he was appalling at. 

_ [Nothing exciting, I'm afraid. Meetings with potential investors.]  
_

_ [You're right. Sounds horrid.]  
_

_ [No appetite for business?]   
_

Was that disappointment? Severin wished writing could convey tone better. [ _My friend says I should develop one since I would like to open my own store one day.]_  


When Hugh replied, he didn't address the part Severin assumed he would. [ _ Friend?]  
_

_[Jealous?]_ he dared ask, bolder than he felt. 

_ [Do you want me to be?]  
_

Severin was glad he was alone with no one to witness him flush. Taking a chance, his hand shaking with nerves, he wrote, _[_ _Some people find possessiveness alluring.]_  


His heart hammered in his chest. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd intentionally flirted. Had he gone too far? 

_ [I'll keep that in mind.]  
_

He released the breath he'd subconsciously been holding. Navigating uncharted territory, he dared ask, _[_ _ So, you want me to find you alluring?] _   


_ [Am I so easy to read?]  
_

_ [Not even a little.]  
_

_ [Such honesty. Tell me, truthsayer, have you given thought to my invitation?] _

“Truthsayer,” Severin murmured as if sampling the word. He rather liked it. _[_ _ Yes, I have.] _   


_ [Leaving me in suspense?]  
_

Severin hesitated. As much as he wanted to say yes— 

_ [I need the answer to a question first.]  
_

_ [You need only ask.]  
_

_[_ Are _ you a follower of Wraith?]  
_

When minutes passed with no answer, Severin began to fret. Fuck. He shouldn't have asked. He'd either offended Hugh or Hugh was trying to find a gentle way to say yes. What if he wasn't a follower but supported Wraith's ideas? What then? Would Severin really be willing to date someone like that? 

Writing began to appear, and Severin's eyes quickly devoured the response. 

_ [I can assure you, Severin, that I have never nor will I ever be his follower.]  
_

It sounded genuine, but Severin tried not to get his hopes up. _[_ _ Thank you for answering,]  _ he wrote, acknowledging that Hugh hadn't been obligated to do so. That he had showed he cared enough to put Severin at ease. _ [We can work out the details for dinner later, if that's alright? I should sleep now. Got work in the morning.] _

_ [I look forward to it. Good night. Sleep well.]  
_

Severin went to bed feeling like he'd conquered mountains. 

  
  
  
  


Severin jerked awake, wand immediately in hand. 

_ Shouting. His father shouting at his mother, and he, only a child, torn between hiding and trying to help her.  _

“—him alone with you and Olly in the house!” 

Heart pounding, he tore himself from the grip of the memory that had ensnared him. 

Not his father. 

Leon. 

It was Leon fucking Griffith who was yelling from down the hall. “He's dangerous, Ella! Look at the company he keeps! Renard is balls deep in this Wraith shit!” 

Severin clenched his fists at the accusation though it wasn't anything new. Leon saw his casual use of darker-aligned spells as evidence that he was somehow inherently evil. As if the world was black and white. 

How blissful such naivety must be. 

Severin couldn't afford to be an idealist. He'd been responsible for defending himself for as long as he could remember, and he wasn't above shedding blood to do so. 

Ella's voice was quieter but no less furious when she said, “I'm not having this discussion while you're yelling.”

“I'm not yelling!” 

Cries erupted, Olly's distress adding to the chaos. 

“Real nice, Leo.” Footsteps marched down the hall, likely to retrieve the crying child. 

“I want him out!” Leon called after her. 

_ With pleasure,  _ Severin thought as he quickly dressed and gathered his things. The petty part of him wanted to find Ella and loudly thank her for a lovely night, but it wasn't worth the fallout. So, without a word to anyone, he hurried out the door.

  
  
  
  


After freshening up at his apartment, he went into work as usual. To his surprise, the shop was closed, and there was no sign of Mr. Navarro. Severin lingered, but the store remained dark. This had never happened before, so he wasn't sure what to do. Keep waiting? Go home? If Severin was accused of missing his shift, he might lose his job. 

He could  _ not  _ afford that. 

Just in case Mr. Navarro was simply running late, Severin decided to visit the coffee shop a few stores down to wait. He preferred lattes, but it was far cheaper to buy a basic coffee. The morning air was frigid, but he took a seat outside anyway. A simple warming spell combined with the hot coffee clutched in his hands kept the worst of the cold at bay as he kept an eye out for Mr. Navarro. 

Someone abruptly sat at his table, startling him into spilling a splash of his precious coffee. 

“Poise, Severin,” Lucien chided him as if he _ wasn't _ the reason Severin had spilled coffee all. 

Severin scowled. “Go away.”

Lucien clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “I see manners are lacking this morning as well.” Then, he turned to the coffee shop's glass facade, caught a barista's eye, and beckoned her over. 

One brow raised, Severin said, “They're not waitresses—” but fell silent when he saw the barista was already on her way over. 

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked. 

Severin sipped his coffee to keep from sighing because  _ of course  _ Lord Renard would get special treatment. 

“I'll have a cortado please, and bring us a plate of assorted pastries. You do like turnovers, don't you, Severin?” Without waiting for a reply, Lucien said, “And bring him a caramel latte. That'll be all,” and waved the barista away. 

The promise of a caramel latte soothed his irritation. “Waste of money. I'm not hungry,” he said at last. 

Lucien didn't care. “You need to eat. You're as thin as a waif.”

“You have a son. Go feed  _ him _ .”

That seemed to amuse Lucien. “You think I see you as a child? That certainly makes our past tryst rather depraved, doesn't it?” 

Severin felt his cheeks flush with heat. He'd been warned never to bring up that specific encounter, but Lucien enjoyed mentioning it whenever he wanted to disconcert Severin—and it never failed to. Thinking of Lucien's skilled hand slipping into his slacks still made him twitch with interest, but there was no point in dwelling or longing. Lucien had been clear when propositioning him that it had been a one time thing, and there was no room for feelings to get involved. For Severin, it had been a sexual awakening, but Lucien had gotten off on the power imbalance, of having a young man who looked upon him come apart in his hands. 

To save face, Severin met Lucien's gaze. “You said it, not me.”

Lucien laughed. 

“You're in an unusually good mood,” Severin observed, wondering what had caused it. 

_ Wraith's public announcement perhaps?  _ a treacherous part of his mind whispered. 

“Yesterday was good for business,” Lucien simply said, but it told Severin all he needed to know. 

Thankfully, the batista quickly returned with their coffee and pastries, and Severin filled his mouth with an apple turnover so he wouldn't be expected to speak. He had no idea what to say. Should he play dumb? 

“I'm hosting an exclusive gathering tonight,” Lucien said as he helped himself to a blueberry scone. “You could attend. Releigh Lavin will be there.”

Cyrus’ little brother, the only of the three siblings with any semblance of decency. Oh, how easily Lucien dangled the promise of community in front of Severin like a lure, but he knew from experience that lure was barbed. 

_ The devil is in the details.  _

“What for?” Severin asked noncommittally. 

“I’ve been asked to host a rather remarkable guest,” Lucien replied. 

Though deliberately vague, a remarkable guest could only be one person. 

_ Tread carefully.  _

Whatever had Lucien breaking their agreement to avoid discussing politics put Severin on edge. Trying to maintain composure, he said, “No, thank you,” and sipped his perfectly crafted latte. This was the second time he'd declined an invitation from Lucien to meet Wraith, and he hoped it would be the last. Telling Lucien no one too many times might put a strain on their relationship. 

“Pity,” Lucien said. “I expected as much, but you must forgive me my persistence. I only want what's best for you. My contacts would be a great benefit.”

Severin was sure the last part was true. “Your generous concern is noted.”

Lucien finished his coffee and stood, adjusting the cashmere scarf around his neck. “I must be on my way. If you change your mind, come to the manor tomorrow night around eight.”

Severin nodded to keep the peace, but knew he wouldn't be going to that gathering. “See yah. Thanks for the latte.”

Lucien's lips twitched at the informal farewell. “You're welcome,” he said and strode off with purpose. 

As Severin finished his latte, his eyes fell on the nearly-full plate of pastries. Whether they'd been deliberately left or not, he wasn't going to let them go to waste. A free lunch was a free lunch. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm _so_ sorry for the wait! This chapter did NOT go the way I expected it to (still not happy with it), and to top it off, I've been sick the last week with covid. D: Enjoy & please heed the warning tags before proceeding!

It wasn't that Severin was tempted to attend the “exclusive gathering” Lucien had invited him to. He was just so _bored_ , and he didn't do well with boredom. Not to mention that Mr. Navarro hadn't shown up to work all day, meaning he would have even _less_ money next paycheck. 

Boredom and stress did  _ not _ go well together. 

A solution and a distraction was desperately needed, but he hadn't felt up to facing Ella. The fight she'd had with her husband had been his fault, and although he would love if she left that idiot, he didn't want to be the cause of it. Mostly because he didn't want her to resent him. 

So, here he was. Alone in his dingy apartment, staring at the ceiling but not really seeing it. Lying around wouldn't fix anything, but he was paralyzed with apathy. He worked his ass off every day, had for  _ so long _ , and it was going to come undone if he couldn't find a way to make up for the lost income. 

A trail of whispy smoke streaked passed his gaze. He sat up and stared into the corner where a translucent sparrow had landed, faintly glowing the familiar sapphire of Ella's magic. Though this particular messenger spell wasn't as popular as it used to be, Severin enjoyed it because its creations always mimicked the colors his sensate magic registered. 

The sparrow tilted his head, opened its beak, and repeated the message Ella had recorded. “Hey, Sev. Pleeeeease don't avoid me. I know you heard all the yelling this morning, and I'm so sorry. You are  _ always _ welcome here. Leon is working late again. I made so many brownies and too much food. Better come help.”

Hm. Seeing Ella would definitely cheer him up, and she might have suggestions about what he should do.

Plus, brownies. 

He went. 

  
  
  
  


The next day, starting in the most logical place, he went to see Lucien. If Mr. Navarro was busy with extracurricular activities involving Wraith, Lucien would know. It wasn't as if Severin was fishing for details, so asking shouldn't cross any lines. 

The door to his office was open, so Severin slipped past the threshold without a word. Lucien was sitting behind his desk, engrossed in whatever he was reading, and he either hadn't noticed Severin or had decided to finish what he was doing before acknowledging him. 

Severin waited patiently, but after five minutes of silence, he finally asked, “Do you know where Mr. Navarro is?” 

Lucien didn't so much as glance up from his work. “You're not blind. I'm very clearly  _ busy _ . Either wait or see yourself out.” 

Severin couldn't afford to be dismissed and was too stressed to keep his temper in check. “Do you know or don't you?”

His tone had Lucien stopping what he was doing and slowly looking up, eyes cold. “Take care with how you speak to me while standing in  _ my  _ home.”

Alarm bells went off in his head. Severin could feel magic as well as see it, but he mostly only felt it when it was thick in the air—like right now. 

Lucien's magic coiled around him like a viper poised to strike. 

_ Danger, power.  _

It called to him, a siren's lure that beckoned him closer. Unable to resist, he used his sensate sight to catch a glimpse of Lucien's deep, peridot magic as it twisted around its owner. 

Heat pooled in Severin' gut, an unfortunate side effect of his abilities, one he struggled to control. Powerful magic was a beacon to a sensate, and if he wasn't careful, the need to bask in the magic of more powerful sorcerers could lead him astray. 

He took a deep breath, clearing his senses of the seductive magic as best as he could, and mustered up an apology. “Sorry.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes and then leaned back in his chair, ego placated as easily as it was offended. Tapping his pen against his palm, he gave Severin a curious look. “Why do you even care where Navarro is? You hardly seem fond of each other. My advice is to leave it be, and enjoy your vacation.” 

Severin lived paycheck to paycheck and had no savings, but he refused to vocalize how dire his situation was. How he would go hungry, how he'd lose his apartment. “I don't need a vacation, Lucien, I need to work.”

Lucien clasped his hands together. “Very well then. I don't know where he is—”

_ Fuck.  _

“—but I can still help you.”

Leery, Severin asked, “How?” 

“You need a job, and I happen to have a job that requires your particular expertise.” 

Severin relaxed. He'd taken jobs from Lucien before, jobs that paid very well because of their questionable nature, so the offer gave him hope. 

“Yeah?” he asked, prompting Lucien for details. 

“A collector who wishes to remain anonymous has recently come into possession of a rare artifact.”

More than likely it had been illegally acquired, which was why they hadn't taken it to an accredited rune master. 

Severin didn't care. Doing these jobs meant he got to inspect magical objects he otherwise never would have. The academic in him couldn't resist. “What do I need to do?” 

“Decipher what it does,” Lucien said. “He knows what it  _ should  _ do, but he wants a professional opinion.”

If the anonymous client wasn't willing to test the object to check its authenticity himself, that meant it could be dangerous. Severin didn't care for danger, but he could never resist the lure of solving the mystery of unknown magical objects. 

“How much?” he asked, already knowing he would take the job no matter how much it paid. 

He  _ really  _ needed the money. 

“We'll discuss compensation if you complete the job.”

“ _ When _ I complete the job,” Severin corrected, confident in his abilities. 

“Excellent,” Lucien said, pleased. “I'll contact the client now. Why don't you visit with Nerissa while you wait? She's been asking after you.”

Severin wasn't sure if that was true, but he accepted the dismissal and went in search of Lady Renard. No one was in the nursery, so he stopped a servant in the hallway to ask where she was. 

He finally found Nerissa in the sunroom, rocking Caius and singing in her native tongue. The moment seemed too intimate to interrupt, but before he could back out of the doorway, she noticed him. 

“ _ Kalispéra _ , Severin,” she greeted. She stood and came over to air-kiss both his cheeks, making him flush (as it always did), before stepping back and smiling. 

Nerissa Renard looked too delicate for this world, with soft, round features and pristine beauty. Her lightly browned skin gave her a rather ambiguous heritage—especially those unfamiliar with how much variance there was among Greeks. Like her son, she had dark brown hair, and it hung in loose curls down to her mid-back. 

“ _ Ya su _ ,” he replied awkwardly, using the simple greeting she'd taught him. 

She made a pleased sound, continuing to sway with Caius in her arms. “Very good. We'll have you speaking  _ Elliniká _ in no time.”

He sincerely doubted it. Language was  _ not  _ one of his gifts, and because she only let herself use Greek when in informal situations, he wasn't expected to practice it often. 

“Where's the nanny?” he asked before she could suggest a lesson. Nerissa was more tolerable than most blueblood women, but she enjoyed talking about herself just as much as the rest of them. 

Nerissa sniffed. “I had to let her go.”

That was, what, the third nanny she'd fired? She'd fired the first nanny because she forgot to play classical music for Caius during a nap. The second because she'd purchased inorganic formula on accident. “I'm sorry,” he offered out of politeness. 

Lucien must be losing his mind. 

“It's alright,” Nerissa said. “It just means I get to spend more time with my son. Isn't that right, my little prince?” she cooed at Caius. “You love spending time with  _ mána _ , and  _ mána  _ loves spending time with you.”

Severin was starting to think it wasn't impossibly high standards that had Nerissa firing so many nannies. “Yanno, you could just  _ tell  _ Lucien that you don't want a nanny.”

When Nerissa looked up from Caius, she couldn't completely hide her surprise which quickly morphed into a subdued smile. “You always were too perceptive.”

He had nothing to say to that but felt the urge to apologize for dragging her secret into the light. 

“I can't have  _ no _ nanny,” Nerissa said after a few moments, breaking the silence. “It simply isn't done. There are expectations, norms I must follow.”

What she meant was that the women in her social circle weren't expected to raise their children. That was a nanny's job. Their only obligation was to provide children (preferably an heir and a spare) and be good wives. That wasn't how every blueblood family operated—in fact, there were many prominent matriarchal families. It  _ was _ part of House Renard's family traditions, and Nerissa, who had taken Lucien's last name, was expected to adopt the customs of her husband's family. 

Severin didn't envy her. He had no advice to give and wouldn't insult her by pretending to understand the position she was in, so he aimed to distract her from her plight. “Might you help me design a new toy for Caius? I'm not sure what would be right for children his age.”

Nerissa smiled anew and began sharing all she knew about infants and age appropriate toys. 

When Severin left the manor several hours later, he had toy ideas, a rare magical artifact, and a basket of assorted foodstuff (courtesy of Nerissa who loved sharing the goods her family regularly sent her). 

  
  
  
  


Severin got to work as soon as he arrived home, and it took him until 2 AM the next morning to decipher the artifact's magic. 

_ [It's a dagger that compels the truth from its target,]  _ he wrote to Hugh, organizing his thoughts.  _ [But I'm still figuring out how,]  _ he added. Was there a chant? A spell?  _ [It doesn't seem to affect the wielder when held.]  _

_ [What does one normally use a dagger for?]  _ Hugh replied.  _ [I would start there.] _

Stabbing, slashing. _ [You're thinking blood magic?]  _

_ [You're familiar with it?]  _

The fact that Hugh had to ask proved how sad their educational system was. Just because certain magic was taboo didn't mean the knowledge should be excluded from the curriculum. There were practical uses for blood magic, including a powerful healing ritual Severin had come across in his studies. 

_ [Yes,]  _ Severin said.  _ [Be back. Gonna test it.] _

Closing the journal, he picked up the rather plain looking dagger and carefully sliced the back of his left hand. To his fascination, the blade seemed to absorb it instantly like a sponge. The dull crimson aura of the blade suddenly grew blindingly brilliant before fading to the brightness of a fluorescent bulb—a reaction he could only see because of his unique ability. 

So. Blood was definitely the answer, but how did it compel its victim to speak the truth? Did someone have to ask him a question, or would it prevent him from speaking a lie entirely? 

“I  _ don't _ think Cyrus Lavin is a piece of human trash,” he said—and immediately gasped at the pain in his left hand, so sharp that he examined it. 

Had the cut gotten… _ deeper _ ? 

Brows furrowed, Severin took a breath and continued the experiment. “I love Ella like a sister.”

Nothing. 

“I was born in December.”

Nothing. 

“My name is John Doe.”

He winced as the cut on his hand had deepened once more, as predicted. So much so that blood dripped onto the floor. 

Evidently the blade  _ did  _ recognize truth from fiction, and while it couldn't force someone to tell the truth, it punished them for lying in a way that was visible to the interrogator. 

A rather ingenious device. Definitely of a darker nature. 

He washed and dressed the gash on his hand before opening the journal to give Hugh the good news. The message he found waiting for him, however, short circuited his brain. 

_ [When you're done with your experiment, let me know if you'll be free today or tomorrow night. I'll be back in town around four.] _

He reread it three times to make sure he hadn't misunderstood. Yes, Hugh had asked him out (and he'd agreed), but it hadn't felt real. He'd tried not to get his hopes up. There were a multitude of reasons why the date might have never happened, after all, but now the details were being decided and— 

It was actually happening. 

_ [Yeah, I'm free today and tomorrow,]  _ he wrote. Too simple? Too desperate? 

_ [Today then? I can pick you up at six.] _

Pick him up? Severin didn't know why he was surprised. That was exactly the sort of thing a blueblood, a gentleman, would do. 

Dear gods, was he going to be courted? He tried to remember exactly what that entailed but nerves fogged his brain. Fuck! 

_ [Sounds good,]  _ he replied, feigning poise.  _ [See you then.] _

_ [I look forward to it.] _

Tentative excitement bloomed in his chest, but life had trampled him too many times to trust that feeling. He still couldn't understand why Hugh was interested in him. Best to remain skeptical, remain guarded until he figured it out. Betrayal hurt less when you expected it.

Still, no matter how hard he tried, he found himself looking forward to tonight. 

  
  
  
  


Severin spent the rest of the morning writing a detailed report on what he'd discovered about the dagger, being thorough in describing the short experiment (which he'd tested twice more to be sure). He passed out afterwards, getting five hours of coma-like sleep before restlessness roused him at eleven. 

There was so much to do. 

He showered, dressed, and took his findings to Renard Manor, eager to get paid. 

“That was quick,” Lucien remarked, accepting the written report and the box that held the dagger. 

“I had motivation to be, but the quality of my work wasn't compromised.” Because Severin was building a reputation, and he wouldn't ruin it by presenting shoddy work. 

Lucien's polite smile was forced. “I have no doubt,” he lied, eyes dropping to read the report. He wasn't a runesmaster—and technically Severin wasn't yet either—but presumably he could tell if the customer would be satisfied or not. 

After a few minutes of quiet, Lucien abruptly asked, “What was your motivation?” 

“What?” Then, after Severin processed the words, he hurriedly said, “What do you mean? Money, of course.” Money for his bills—and his date. He wasn't the type to expect others to pay for him. In any situation. So, he couldn't very well show up to his first date with nothing.

“Yes, but even if you were working for Navarro as normal, you wouldn't have been expecting a paycheck today. That makes me wonder, why did you need the money so soon?” 

Severin was about to tell him to mind his own business when—

“Are you in trouble?” 

The seriousness of his question thawed Severin's anger. He momentarily averted his gaze, swallowing his discomfort. Apart from Ella, he wasn't used to people asking after his well-being—because why would they? He didn't care about most people, so why would they care about him? 

“I—I have a date,” he admitted. 

Lucien blinked. “I'm afraid I'll have to ask you for details later as I'm short on time, but if I may, where do you plan to go for dinner?” 

“Dunno.” Severin wasn't even sure if they  _ were  _ going to dinner, but he knew Lucien would have something to say about that. 'Dinner is the best way to get to know someone,' he would say. 

“Well that won't do.” Lucien pulled out his wallet and removed a sleek black credit card. “Take him to Sapori's,” he said, handing it to him. “My treat.”

Severin clasped his hands behind his back, pointedly not taking it. “That sounds expensive.”

Lucien rolled his eyes with a huff of exasperation. “You've earned it, Severin. We're about to have a very satisfied client because of you. Your predecessor had a week and couldn't decipher how the dagger works. Now take the card and have a good time.”

But he'd had help from Hugh, so had he really earned it? Severin hesitantly accepted the card, but he had no intention of taking Lucien's money or his dinner suggestion. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“You're welcome.” Lucien surveyed him across the desk. “So, is your date the blueblood you asked me about?” 

Severin didn't think he would get away with lying. If things worked out with Hugh, the two of them would meet eventually anyway. “Yeah.”

“Hm. I'm afraid I don't recall his name.” 

Because Severin hadn't given it, but Lucien knew that. It was as much a reprimand as it was a demand. Maybe Lucien was concerned, maybe he was only curious. Some part of Severin wanted to keep it to himself, just to remind Lucien he didn't  _ have  _ to answer, but then he imagined Lucien interrupting the dinner just to learn his date's name. 

“Hugh Eamonn.”

The lack of recognition on Lucien's face surprised him. 

“I don't know that name,” Lucien mused, “But I will.” 

Severin felt sorry for bringing Hugh to his attention. “Please don't harass the first guy to show interest in me.”

That drew Lucien from his thoughts. He gave Severin a contemplative look. “Here,” he said, picking up a pen and scribbling something down on his official stationary. “That ought to help you impress your blueblood.”

Severin took it. “What's this?” 

“My personal tailor. She won't be able to make you a custom suit on such short notice, but she'll make you look fantastic and will charge it to my account.”

It was too much. “Lucien—” Stifling his protests, knowing the older man wouldn't take no for an answer, he said, “Thank you,” again and decided it was time to retreat. Before Lucien could try to spend more money on him. “Gotta go. Gonna visit Ella.” 

Lip curled in disgust, with an overly sweet tone, Lucien said, “Give her my best.”

Yeah, right. “No.” He turned on heel and walked away to the sound of Lucien chuckling behind him. 

  
  
  
  


Ella was, in one word, ecstatic. 

“Tell me  _ everything _ ,” she demanded after dragging him into the dining room by his arm. 

He did, and although he tried not to get excited about his impending date, her enthusiasm was infectious. 

“We should go shopping,” she all but squealed. “A new outfit for a special occasion.” 

She and Lucien were more alike than they knew. 

Before he could reply, Ella's smile fell. “Sorry. I didn't even  _ think _ —If you don't have the money, I can lend you it.”

He rarely had extra money, so Severin was proud to be able to say, “I've got it.” 

Thankfully, she didn't ask for details. She really didn't like him working for Lucien, and though he understood her reasons, well,  _ she'd  _ never gone hungry a day in her life. He loved her, but she couldn't understand. 

“Awesome! Well, if you want me to go shopping with you, it'll have to be later. I have to finish up some chores.”

Severin did want her to go. This felt like the sort of thing a best friend was needed for, so they agreed to browse a few downtown shops together later. 

First, Ella made them a late lunch while Severin (per her request) investigated why Olly's stuffed cerberus pup wasn't working properly. It was supposed to warm to the touch, which was an easy fix so he did some additional work to give it a soothing effect when cuddled. 

Olly seemed to appreciate his work, judging by the way he gripped the plushie when they were reunited on the playmat. 

“Aww. You missed your calling,” Ella teased from the stove. “You should have gone into toy making.”

Severin gave a single sarcastic, “Ha.”

After they ate, Ella asked him to watch Olly while she did some chores. Thankfully, the three month old was still relatively immobile and easy to keep track of, so he pulled out the journal to check for messages from Hugh. 

_ [Good morning,]  _ was waiting for him. 

So simple, but Severin never had a guy message him just to wish him well. 

_ [Good morning.] _ Except it wasn't morning anymore. Should he have said afternoon? 

_ Why am I so awkward?  _

He wanted to write more, but everything he came up with sounded forced until—  _ [Gonna tell me what the plan for tonight is?]  _ Because he still had no idea what they were doing. 

No reply came by the time Ella was done, but he tried not to feel disappointed. Hugh was probably busy. 

Ella offered to do his nails, distracting him from his plight. He wasn't really one to fuss over such trivial aspects of his appearance, but a blueblood would care. Severin wasn't interested in changing who he was, but taking a little bit more care with his appearance couldn't hurt. So, once Olly was down for his nap, Ella scrubbed, clipped, and filed his nails to perfection. 

“How do you wanna do your hair?” she asked afterwards, running her fingers through it. 

He reflexively pulled away but didn't scold her for the unsolicited contact. She was the only one who could get away with that. 

“I don't know.” He couldn't even name a hairstyle. That's how little he paid attention to his appearance. 

“We could slick it back?” 

And that's when Severin discovered he  _ did, _ in fact, have a preference. “No.”

She laughed. “Okay. How about…”

He let her play around with it, and the side part he eventually ended up with actually looked decent. 

She met his gaze in the mirror. “You look super cute.”

Embarrassment nearly made him squirm. He hated compliments. “You mispronounced 'not hideous.'”

She tapped him sharply on the head. “Be. Nice. To. Yourself. Be positive!”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I don't look awful. Better?”

Her long suffering sigh said no. “You'll feel like a million credits once you're wearing a new outfit.”

“I submit to your expertise,” he replied with an exaggerated bow. 

She swatted him again. 

They had to wait until Olly woke up to go, something they'd forgotten to calculate for, so they'd ended up arriving in downtown much later than anticipated. He had an hour and a half before he would be getting picked up, but that was plenty of time to shop and return to his apartment. 

He checked the journal once more before they entered the store, but Hugh still hadn't replied. Was he going to cancel? Every minute that passed without a word made him more and more anxious. 

Ella carried Olly in a baby sling (spelled for safety and warmth), so her hands were free to grab every article of clothing she felt Severin had to see—which was a lot. The store she'd chosen had an excellent selection of colors and styles. 

“Do you know where you're going tonight yet?” she asked as they browsed. “Do you need formal or informal clothes?” 

He hadn't thought of that. “No idea. Maybe something in-between?” 

Choosing was hard, especially when they didn't know what he was dressing for, but they eventually settled on five outfits for him to try. He preferred darker colors, mostly black, greys, and purples (his favorite color), but Ella made him try on a green top as well. 

When he came out of the changing rooms wearing the first outfit, Ella wolf-whistled, and though embarrassed, he couldn't fight the little boost it gave his self-confidence. They went through each outfit much the same until the fourth—definitely Severin's favorite. Dark slacks paired with a violet button-up shirt. Simple but classy. This time, he dared to pose unprompted, making Ella laugh. 

“ _ Very  _ sexy,” she said, loud enough that a middle-aged woman shot them a disapproving look. 

“You shouldn't speak that way in front of children,” chided the stranger, gesturing to Olly. “What sort of example are you setting?” 

_ Uh-oh _ . Ella did  _ not  _ take well to unsolicited baby advice from strangers. Not that he blamed her. This particular woman seemed especially dense. It wasn't as if a three month old knew or cared what the word sexy meant.

Ella straightened up, all traces of mirth replaced with cool anger. “Sorry. Didn't see you there. Do you need help finding your mommy and daddy, little girl?” 

It took the woman a moment to realize she'd been called a child. Sputtering in disbelief, she looked to Severin—as if  _ he  _ was going to help her. 

Yeah. No. He just glared until she shuffled off, muttering about indecent people. 

“Prude!” Ella called out after her. “The nerve of some people,” she said as she turned back to him. “Who even—” 

A scream simultaneously drew their attention to the storefront, but since it was already starting to get dark outside, it took Severin a moment to understand what he was seeing. As soon as he saw the first group of people rush by, obviously fleeing from something, he knew they needed to go. But, fuck, he wasn't even wearing his own clothes, and he certainly didn't want to waste time changing while an unknown danger lurked. 

His mind raced with possibilities—fire, terrorism, a shifter attack like what had happened in Tarnov last month. 

A group of teens burst into the store, letting in the sounds of screaming from outside. As they hurried past them, Ella tried to get answers. “What's going on?” 

A girl of about fourteen or fifteen stopped. “Masked men are attacking!” 

Masked men? Why did that make him think of Wraith? 

One of the girl's compatriots grabbed her wrist and forced her to continue running, getting as far away from the storefront as possible. 

Ella, on the other hand, took a step  _ towards  _ the danger, like an impulsive saint. 

Severin snatched her back by the arm and hissed, “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Someone might need help!” she snapped. 

“You have Oliver with you!” 

The sound of Olly starting to fuss doused her anger, but she looked torn. “We can't just do nothing!” 

_ 'The fuck we can't,'  _ definitely wasn't the answer she wanted to hear. He gritted his teeth and, checking to see that no store employees were around to witness that he was about to run off wearing the merchandise, made a split second decision. “I'll help. You go. See if there's a back exit. Teleport straight home. I'll meet you there.”

Ella did  _ not  _ like that response, but she knew her options were limited—and she knew he was a vicious fighter. “Stay safe,” she ordered him. Wrapping her arms around Olly, she turned and fled. 

Then, he headed for the front door. 

To be honest, as soon as he stepped outside, beyond the wards of the store, he was tempted to teleport away. He would tell Ella that he'd tried to help, and she would be none the wiser. 

“No! Please!” 

He crouched low, peering in the direction the scream had come from, the same direction from which the masses had fled. A woman was being dragged into an alleyway a block over. It was too dark to discern details, but if the screaming was anything to go by, she wasn't going willingly. 

It wasn't his problem. His peers had never stood up for him when he'd been bullied, harassed, and beaten—no one but Ella. 

Ella, his best friend, who wanted him to help. 

_ Fuck my life.  _

Sticking to the shadows, he crept forward as quietly as possible, senses on high alert. He let his sensate magic sweep the area, trying to get a feel for how many people were in that alley. He detected at least three magical signatures. Even if only two were enemies, even with the element of surprise, it wouldn't be easy—

A sharp sob made him freeze. 

The unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh. “I just told you to shut up, didn't I, bitch? Don't make this worse than it has to be.” 

Niall Wyndham. 

Severin bared his teeth in a silent snarl. If Wyndham was here, nothing good was about to happen to that woman. 

“Hurry up, mate! I want a turn!” 

_ How charming.  _

That voice wasn't familiar, but it didn't matter. A friend of Wyndham was no friend of his. 

Severin slowly peered leaned into the alley, leaning only enough to see. He gave himself mere seconds to assess—two masked figures wearing all black; one woman—before he took aim and shot a severing spell at the back of the closest man's calf. 

It hit true, and the man howled, falling in a crumpled heap as his leg gave way. 

Severin narrowed avoided a retaliatory spell from the second man, and rather than wait around for the next attack, he teleported away. The world had just re-materialized when fingers dug into his shoulder, and his surroundings melted away once more. 

Even as his brain tried to catch up with what had happened—that someone had followed him, grabbed him, and teleported them both to another location—he raised his wand and sent a bone-breaker curse at his opponent's face. As intended, it shattered the white mask, revealing Wyndham and making him stumble backwards.

Severin hoped the fucker got pieces of it in his eyes. 

Though he had faith in his dueling abilities, he wasn't a fool. Besting Wyndham would be satisfying, but satisfaction wasn't worth it. He was not a man that took needless risks, so he teleported away. 

He  _ tried  _ to teleport away. 

Doing so was like slamming head-first into a brick wall, and it left him momentarily stunned. He'd never encountered anti-teleportation wards like this before, ones that retaliated when you tried to pass through. Most were passive, simply preventing teleporting rather than punishing it. 

Where the fuck was he? 

Agony swallowed him whole without warning. It felt like he'd been set on fire, every nerve in his body ablaze with white-hot agony.  _ Vulnerare _ , he recognized the curse even as it tore him apart. He screamed and writhed in the cold grass, and when it finally ended, all he could do was moan softly. The metallic taste in his mouth told him he'd bitten his tongue, but he couldn’t tell how badly. 

A boot kicked at his hand, sending his wand sprawling into the darkness, and Wyndham crouched over him with a wicked grin. 

“You make such pretty sounds, Arundel.”

There went his plan of getting away before being recognized. 

“Scream some more and maybe I'll let you live.”

Severin spat bloody saliva at Wyndham's face. Enraging a sadist wasn't a good idea, but it wasn't the worst decision he'd made that day. 

Wyndham wiped his face and snarled. “Good. I like 'em feisty.” 

He cast  _ vulnerare _ again, and the world around Severin faded, replaced with all-consuming agony. He couldn't hold back his screams. 

When it ended, he realized Wyndham had straddled his chest and was unbuttoning his slacks. Severin could guess what he intended, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. Wyndham had immobilized him with a body-binding spell at some point. 

Fuck! 

Though his head pounded and his stomach churned, he glared defiantly up at his captor. 

Wyndham freed himself from his slacks and began stroking his hard length with a malicious grin. His other hand grabbed Severin by the back of the head, yanking his hair as hard as he could. “Bite me, filth, and I’ll knock your teeth out.” Then, he forced Severin’s head into a favorable position.

There was no mercy. 

Wyndham thrust into his mouth as deeply as he could, making Severin’s eyes water as he choked. The sweaty taste, the musky smell made him gag. Two hands wrapped around the back of his head, keeping him still as Wyndham fucked his mouth and whispered disgusting things between groans of pleasure. 

“Wyndham!” 

Lucien? No, no, no! He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, especially Lucien! Another part of him, however, mentally pleaded for his friend to save him. 

Wyndham slowed down but didn’t stop. “Fuck off, Renard!”

If he hadn't recognized his voice, Severin wouldn't have known the masked man that now stood over them was Lucien. 

“You know Lord Wraith's will. He inspects all prisoners,” Lucien said coldly, without even glancing at Severin. Was he disgusted by what he saw? Ashamed? “No exceptions.”

“And he will once I'm done,” Wyndham snarled. “Your little bitch here took away my fun, so he gets to replace her.”

“ _ That  _ is for our lord to decide,” Lucien replied. 

Wyndham stood up with a snarl, and Severin gasped, thankful for air. His throat screamed in protest, bruised from the rough treatment. There was no time for relief, however, because he was hauled to his feet, blindfolded, and tugged along—presumably towards where Lord Wraith waited.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Sorry for the wait again! I was still recovering from covid fatigue, but I'm all better now! :D **Please heed** the warning tags above before proceeding. The coming chapters will be dark, probably for a while.

Chapter 5

Wyndham wasn't gentle as he dragged Severin along, the binding curse making him little more than dead weight, and apparently Lucien didn't deign to help carry him. The blindfold was disorientating, but the changes in terrain were hard to miss—grass to tile to stone stairs. They descended downwards, the air getting colder and colder. 

Severin grunted in surprise when they hit leveled flooring, and not long after that there was a screech of metal. Before he could figure out what it was, he was carelessly tossed onto the stone floor. 

“Leave us,” Lucien ordered. 

“I could say the same to you,” Wyndham snarled. “But, fuck it, watch if you want.” 

A scuffle and a grunt of pain. 

“If you're so desperate, might I suggest some private time with your hand,” Lucien hissed. “You should be familiar with it.”

Wyndham laughed. “He must be a good fuck to get you so riled.”

Lucien didn't reply. 

Footsteps echoed off the stone, and as they faded completely, the spell binding him was lifted and the blindfold removed. 

Severin's muscles sighed in relief, but he could still feel Wyndham's cock on his lips, taste him on his tongue. His stomach churned violently, and he only had time to roll onto his hands and knees before he was throwing up. 

Lucien laid a hand on his back, and although part of him recoiled at the thought of anyone seeing him like this—well, Lucien had just seen him in a worse position. 

“Yes, Wyndham is rather disgusting, isn't he?” Lucien muttered. 

Severin couldn't help but laugh incredulously. “That's an understatement,” he said, wiping at his mouth and eyes. He pushed himself to his knees and found Lucien looking down at him, maskless and arms crossed. 

“You weren't supposed to be downtown tonight,” he said, tone as emotionally void as his expression. “I gave you funds so you would be far away.”

Severin knew he should hold his tongue, but he couldn't. He felt  _ raw _ . Raw and ashamed. “So, it's my fault? Is that what you're saying?” He'd charged in unprepared and gotten himself captured.

_ Idiot! _

Lucien wasn't impressed with his outburst. “Don't put words in my mouth, Severin. I'm your only ally here.”

He didn't know if that was a threat, but it put him further on edge. The cold cell was thankfully enclosed on three sides, and his spine was pressed firmly against the back wall. It was a false sense of security, but it helped. 

“Now what?” he dared to ask. 

“That's not up to me. Lord Wraith will decide.” 

Severin wasn't suicidal. He'd already insulted Wraith once when he'd backed out of meeting him years ago, and now he'd attacked his followers. “No. Lucien, he'll kill me. I can't—” 

“You don't have a choice,” Lucien said, but he didn't look happy about it. “I'll put in a good word for you. If need be, I'll plead for leniency.”

“What does that mean?” Severin asked, mind racing. 

“I can't give you definite answers.” 

“Worst case scenario then.” Not knowing was worse. 

Lucien hesitated, but frustration won out. “Fine, Severin. If you really want to discuss this, best case scenario you'll be offered a position in the ranks. Worst case, you'll end up as a pet to one of his most faithful.”

Both fates were worse than death. “You think he would accept me among his followers after I meddled in his affairs?” Not that Severin had any intention of joining, but could he feign interest long enough to earn his freedom? 

No. Nothing good would happen if he led a megalomaniac on. 

With a lip curled in distaste, Lucien said, “You mean with Wyndham? That wasn't part of the mission. He has a tendency to…stray.” 

Severin knew he could never join an organization that thought Ella was subhuman merely because of where and how she'd been raised. “I won't join him, Lucien. I haven't changed my mind.”

Lucien sighed as if he was speaking with a stubborn child. “If he offers you a place and you reject it—” 

“Then don't give him the chance,” Severin replied, desperation slipping into his voice. “Tell him you want me. As a pet.”

Lucien did  _ not  _ look pleased at the suggestion. “You have no idea what you're asking of me.”

No, Severin didn’t, but it was his best option. 

“I have to go,” Lucien said abruptly. “I'll speak with Lord Wraith, but I can't promise anything.” The creaky cell door automatically opened when he approached and slammed shut behind him. 

“Thank you,” Severin said quickly. 

Lucien laughed, a mirthless, bitter sound. “Don't thank me. You have no idea what you're signing up for.”

Then, he strolled away, leaving Severin with dread as his only companion. 

  
  
  
  


The body could only stay on high alert for so long, but even though he was drained by the day's events, he didn't dare sleep. In fact, he hadn't moved from where Lucien had left him.  _ “You have no idea what you're signing up for,”  _ he'd said, and Severin couldn't help but imagine every possibility, no matter how disturbing. 

Time passed, but he had no way to keep track of it. That was by design, he was sure. All of it—the cold, the confinement, the disorientating absence of time—was psychological torture. He'd always been interested in psychology, but he wasn't arrogant enough to believe understanding granted him immunity to the techniques they would use to break him—if breaking him was the goal. 

His mind had always been his greatest asset, but he was afraid that this time it wouldn't be enough. 

No, he couldn’t think like that. It had to be enough. He was a survivor. 

  
  
  
  


“Wake.”

Severin hadn't been asleep but startled all the same, gaze snapping to the man standing outside of his cell. The voice didn't belong to Wyndham or Lucien, and the pale mask and black uniform (similar to what Lucien and Wyndham had been wearing) kept him from determining any discerning features. The man was of average height and average build, but that's all he could tell. 

“Time to meet Master Wraith.”

Master? 

A chill ran down Severin's spine, but he dared not show how afraid he was. Years of personal experience had taught him that fear emboldened bullies. If he cowered now, they would only ever see him as prey. 

He stood, keeping his back to the wall as the man opened the cell. 

“Come, kout. We mustn't keep Master waiting.” 

Severin didn't bother correcting him. To a fanatic, there probably wasn't much of a difference between a kout's and Severin's upbringing. 

He stepped out of the cell as instructed, expecting to be restrained in some way, but his chaperone only began to walk away. 

“ _ Come _ . Very poor at listening, the kout is,” he grumbled, seemingly to himself. 

He led them up a winding staircase—definitely not the one Severin had been dragged down earlier. Maybe he should have been gathering what information he could from the strange man that was leading him, but he remained silent, saving energy for the confrontation to come. 

_ Confrontation _ wasn't the right word. He had no wand, no allies (unless Lucien was being sincere). Wraith had all the power. 

There would be no confrontation, if it came down to a fight, only a slaughter. 

The stairs finally leveled out, leading to a rather short hallway that ended in a pair of dark walnut doors. Larger than was standard, they had been carved with the intricate design of a serpentine-like dragon. Every scale had been etched into the wood with flawless precision, and twin amethyst jewels marked its eyes. 

Lóng, the eastern dragon, was said to be Wraith’s symbol. 

His guide stepped forward, opened the doors, and called into the room, “Severin is here, Master.” No reply came, but the man turned to Severin and gestured for him to go inside. 

Well aware that his clothes were rumpled and the taste of bile lingered on his tongue, he nonetheless held his head high and entered. Like a price, not the pauper he was. 

The doors behind him closed as he met the oceanic eyes of Hugh Eamonn. 

He sat at the head of a needlessly long table, filled with a banquet that could feed a small army. A fire crackled in the brick fireplace behind him, outlining his imposing figure with a warm glow. 

For a long moment, Severin didn't make the connection. Then—then everything clicked into place. 

“I believe I promised you a date tonight,” Hugh—Wraith said with amusement. 

“Yo— _ you're  _ Wraith,” was the most unintelligent thing he could have said, so naturally, that's what carelessly came out of his mouth. 

Hugh unleashed a smile, but it wasn't as charismatic now that Severin knew who he was. Finally processing what Hugh—Waith?—had said, he was elated to realize it was still the same day he'd been taken. Ella would still be worried but—

_ Ella.  _ Had she gotten away? What if she was being held captive? “Was I the only one taken prisoner?” he asked, unable to stop himself. Fuck. What if she'd been killed? 

Hugh chuckled like an adult indulging a child. “Ask me what you mean to ask me, Severin.”

It was dangerous to give Hugh Ella's name, to bring her to his attention, but Hugh likely already knew about her. His friendship with Ella had never been secret. Everyone who had gone to school with them knew how inseparable they'd been. 

“Is Ella Griffith okay?” 

Hugh didn't seem surprised by the question. “As far as I'm aware, but the next time you speak her name in my presence, I can't promise she'll stay that way.” 

He issued the warning as casually as others might comment on the weather, but Severin didn't miss the dangerously possessive undertone. 

Possessive. Of  _ him.  _

“Come,” Hugh gestured to the seat perpendicular to his right. “Sit.”

Severin cautiously did so, knowing he had to choose his battles carefully. The food in front of him looked and smelled delicious, but he didn't dare take his eyes off of the predator in the room. 

Hugh gestured to the feast. “I wasn't sure what you would prefer, so I had a little of everything prepared.”

“To apologize for kidnapping me?” he asked, testing the waters. 

“That wasn't done on my order. You happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

That about summed up his luck. “So, I'm not a prisoner?” 

“At this moment you're my guest. Now, let's eat, shall we?” Hugh waved his hand, and serving spoons dishes began piling food onto their plates. As they did, Hugh picked up a bottle of red wine with a foreign name and poured them each a glass. 

If they were eating and drinking from the same source, Severin supposed the food wasn't poisoned, but he really didn't want to play 'dinner date' with Wraith. He wanted answers about what awaited him. There wasn't really a choice, however, so falling back on the lessons the Renards had given him on maintaining composure in tense situations (a skill bluebloods prized), he managed to say, “Thank you,” for being served. 

“You're welcome,” Hugh replied, picking up his silverware and prompting Severin to do the same. 

He took a small bite of some species of roast bird, but the food was tasteless in his mouth. He may as well have been eating gruel. 

“You needn't be silent,” Hugh commented between the clinking of silverware against plates. “A date is how two people get to know each other isn't it?” 

Severin didn't want to get to know him. He also didn't know what was safe to ask and what wasn't. “That's all this is? A date?” 

Hugh regarded him with an unreadable expression. “All it is?” he echoed wryly. “Do you date frequently?” 

The lack of possessiveness in his tone had Severin assuming Hugh already knew the answer to his question. “No. You?” 

Hugh laughed. At what, Severin wasn't sure. The audacity of his question or the absurdity? 

“Not in twenty years.”

Twenty years? He couldn't be older than thirty, so that would mean— “You've never dated?” 

Hugh looked thoroughly amused. “How old do you think I am, Severin?” 

“Lucien's age?” 

That earned him a real laugh. “No. I went to school with his father.”

Severin blinked because he didn't look a day over thirty, but Hugh didn't elaborate, instead continuing to eat. No doubt some magic was at work. Darker magic. Playing with youth, with age, almost always included blood magic or sacrifices. 

Rather than ask about it, Severin changed directions. Might as well gather information while Wraith was feeling talkative. “Is your name really Hugh Eamonn?” 

“Is it my  _ birth  _ name?” he clarified. “Yes.”

If that was true, and Severin now had Wraith's real name, there was no way he would be allowed to go free. It was well known that Wraith fiercely guarded his identity, evidenced by the fact that no one knew who he was. 

“Then, why didn't Lucien know it?” Or had Lucien been lying? He couldn't rule that out. 

With a pleased, crooked smile, Hugh said, “You asked after me?” 

No point denying it, but it was humiliating to realize how completely fooled he'd been. No reasonable person would suspect a handsome stranger of being Wraith, but Severin blamed himself all the same. It had been utterly naive to think someone,  _ anyone _ , would genuinely be interested in him. 

Afraid his voice would break from the shame of it, he shrugged instead of speaking. 

Hugh sipped at his wine. “I destroyed every record of Hugh Eamonn's existence, and no one knows who I am, especially my followers.”

How could he have erased his own existence? Didn't the people he went to school with remember him? Had he killed everyone who'd ever known him? Was Severin next?

He clenched his silverware until his fists were white, trying to contain his terror and anxiety. 

“Lucien came to speak with me earlier,” Hugh said, continuing on as if oblivious to Severin's panic. 

Sensing he was supposed to show interest, Severin managed a, “Yeah?” despite already knowing. 

“He was quite concerned about Wyndham's attempt to claim you as a prize.”

Severin tensed, every muscle in his body freezing. Was that to be his fate? His stomach rebelled at the idea, and he knew then and there that he'd rather kill himself than submit to that. 

Hugh's voice became faux-soothing, “Does he frighten you, my trinket?”

Icy dread chilled his spine at the pet name. It couldn't mean—Hugh wasn’t  _ genuinely  _ interested in him. He couldn’t be. It had been a ploy, a trick to get something from him. 

“Don't worry. I rejected his request.”

There was no time for relief. He might be 'safe' from Wyndham, but now he faced Wraith's unwanted attention. 

“And who'll protect me from you?” 

As soon as Severin said it, he could _feel_ the surge of magic in the room, and he could see something about Wraith change. Not with his magic but with his demeanor. The smile on his face became cold and dangerous. 

“Is that why Lucien came to ask me for you, Severin?” 

Hugh's power churned like a brewing storm, so thick that Severin felt like he might choke on it. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Severin lied. 

That was  _ not  _ the right thing to say. “ _ Don’t  _ lie to me. I'm not a fool. If Lucien wanted you, he would have acted before now.”

He didn't reply. His father had taught him it was best not to speak in situations such as these, had beaten that lesson into him time and time again. It was best to remain still and silent when faced with rage, and he  _ loathed  _ how easily he fell back into the mindset of a victim. 

_ Weak.  _

“He can’t have you. You belong to me,” Hugh hissed. “You will serve me.”

No. That he couldn't do, and although it went against his instincts to speak, he forced the words out. “I won't.”

Hugh smiled, and his sudden cold, calm confidence terrified Severin more than his fury had. “You misunderstand me. That wasn't an offer. You  _ will  _ serve me. Whether it be as a follower or as a pet is up to you.”

As Lucien had warned him. 

Severin wet his lips, terrified but unwilling to change his mind. “I won't follow you.”

Hugh didn't seem surprised and inclined his head. “As you wish. Stand up and bend over the table.”

Severin stood before the order even registered, as if his body suddenly wasn't his own. His sensate sight came alive, triggered by his panic—panic exasperated by what he saw. Hugh's amethyst magic had wrapped itself around him like chains. He'd become a marionette, helpless to do anything but follow the pull of his strings. 

Bent over the table with his cheek flush against the smooth wood, Severin feared the worst, but Hugh remained sitting, silently and methodically cleaning his plate. When he was done, he waved his hand and that eerie mask appeared on his face. 

“Enter,” Hugh called out, voice suddenly different, suddenly  _ Wraith's _ . A simple but effective voice modifying spell. 

The door swung open, and the man from earlier bowed his head from the threshold. “Lord Renard, Master.”

Severin turned his head to watch as Lucien entered the room, but Lucien didn't spare him a glance. Instead, he approached Hugh with reverence and respect in every step. “My lord,” he said, head bowed with subservience that Severin had never seen him display. 

It looked and felt so wrong. Lucien Renard didn’t bow to anyone. He was a blueblood patriarch from one of the most powerful families. People bowed to  _ him. _

“You've disappointed me, Lucien. You did well today—before this transgression.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I didn't know you'd already claimed him when I made the request.”

“Hence the reason for my mercy. This is a reward as much as it is a punishment.”

Lucien bowed his head again and turned away from Hugh, finally turning to look at Severin with a blank expression.

No. He couldn't possibly mean to—

Denial shattered when Lucien swept behind him, promptly undoing and pulling his new slacks boxers down to his ankles. His boxers went next. “Stop! Lucien, what—” 

“Don't speak, Severin,” Hugh said, and Severin's teeth clicked loudly as his jaw snapped shut. 

A pitiful noise escaped his throat when he heard the sound of a zipper behind him and Lucien's smooth hands gripped his hips. He closed his eyes, bracing for the worst.

“Look at me, Severin,” Hugh ordered, and Severin was helpless to do anything but meet the masked gaze of the man who'd orchestrated the torture to come. 

A blunt, thick pressure pressed against his most private area, and Severin could do nothing but cry out when it pierced him. His legs shook, but Hugh's order kept his muscles locked in place as the intrusion deepened inch by agonizing inch until his rapist was flush against him. Skin to skin in a mockery of intimacy. 

Lucien was raping him, and Severin was  _ letting  _ him. 

“Can you feel how much he enjoys having you like this?” Hugh asked. “How quickly he was ready to take you?” 

Severin couldn't reply, tongue still bound by Hugh's earlier order, and he was almost glad for it. He couldn't speak, couldn't think beyond the searing pain of being unwillingly impaled.

Lucien's breathing hitched, trembling with what must have been pleasure. 

Severin hated him for it, hated him because his sensate magic revealed that Lucien wasn't under the same amethyst compulsion magic that Severin was. He was  _ choosing _ to do this. 

That knowledge hurt almost as much as being breached unprepared. 

Then Lucien began to roll his hips, and although the pace was slow, Severin changed his mind. The physical aspect of this betrayal hurt just as much. 

He'd only ever been fucked once. A drunken, clumsy tumble with a stranger, and though it hadn't been great, it hadn't been painful. In a way, Severin was glad that Lucien was exerting no effort to make this pleasurable. He didn't touch his half-hard length, didn't talk to him. The room was silent save for the slapping of skin against skin. 

It was endless, and the longer it went on, the more Lucien lost himself, thrusting faster with each passing minute. Severin wanted to beg for it to end, but he couldn't. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise, preserving whatever scraps of dignity he had left. The longer it went on, the more the burning pain faded, leaving him with only the sting of betrayal and shame. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and Wraith watched it all, topping off the humiliation. 

_ Finally _ , Lucien groaned softly and stilled, filling him with pulses of wet heat.

Severin shifted his feet impatiently, desperate for it to be over, but before he withdrew, Lucien gave the right side of his hip a gentle squeeze. It felt…meaningful, but Severin couldn't fathom what it was supposed to convey. 

“You may go, Lucien. Remember this lesson.”

Lucien tucked himself away and bowed his head. “Yes, my lord,” he said and left. 

Left Severin bent over the table, cooling seed trickling down his thigh.

Left him alone with a psychopath. 

“At ease, Severin,” came Wraith's cold voice. 

He collapsed, legs crumbling, and shivered despite the heat of the room. 

“Come to me. Crawl.”

His aching, abused body forced him to obey, compelled by Wraith's disgusting magic. He crawled on his hands and knees, the clothes around his ankles barely a hindrance. 

Numb. 

He was numb, detached. Nothing felt real. 

A hand grabbed his chin hard enough to bruise, forcing him to look up at Hugh's—Wraith's mask. “Never try to conspire with my followers again. No one here will protect you from me. Do you understand, pet?” 

Was that the lesson? Was that why he had Lucien—? 

_ “Answer me.” _

“Yes,” Severin said breathlessly. Not because he was compelled but because he was afraid. 

Wraith released him and ran the back of his knuckles over his cheek. 

Severin flinched away, but the reprimand he expected never came. When he looked back at his captor, the mask was gone, and Hugh was regarding him with a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry for the harsh lesson, my trinket, but it was unavoidable. Come. Let's get you cleaned up.”

No compulsion magic. Instead, Hugh gently lifted him to his feet and helped him walk, elbows locked like he was guiding a precious guest. As much as he didn't want to be touched, especially by Hugh, Severin didn't protest. 

He had no fight left right now. 

What Severin had assumed to be one room was in fact obviously Hugh's private chambers, he realized, because the bathroom he was taken to looked like it had been designed for an emperor. Severin could barely pay attention to his surroundings. He passively noticed a large shower and hot tub, but it was the bathtub that Hugh led him to. He turned on the water, adjusted the temperature until it was satisfactory, and then began to help Severin finish undressing.

Severin knew he should fight—did he have no pride left?—but he couldn’t bring himself to resist, especially since Hugh wasn’t currently hurting him. If anything, he was being tender, treating him like he was something precious. If Severin fought, if he angered Hugh again—

He shivered and realized that Hugh was appraising his naked body. 

“Beautiful,” his captor praised. 

The compliment made him feel sick.

“Do you believe me, trinket?” 

There was that nickname again. Pet, trinket, toy. That’s what he was. “No.” 

Hugh made a sympathetic sound. “You will. No one else sees what I do. You’re nothing.”

That struck him like a whip because he’d struggled with worthlessness his entire life. Worthless, weak, unworthy, his own father had said. 

_ Ella doesn’t think you’re worthless.  _

Because he’d fooled her. He’d fooled her into thinking he wasn’t a waste of space.

“You’re worthless,” Hugh continued, pausing for emphasis, “but not to me.” 

_ Why me?  _ Severin wanted to ask, but he didn’t. Right now, when he could still feel the evidence of Lucien’s betrayal, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Hugh guided him into the tub as if he were a puppet to be led, and Severin let him. The water stung at first, but it was the perfect warmth and was soon soothing his abused body. He closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was far away. It became hard to do when Hugh began to meticulously wash him. His neck, shoulders, arms, back, legs, and then—He tensed when Hugh touched him  _ there _ , afraid of what it might lead to, but the older man only washed him with care before moving on to shampoo his hair. Nails softly scraped his scalp. It felt—it felt nice, if he ignored his anxiety and gave into the physical sensations. 

When his hair was washed and rinsed, Hugh went to the medicine cabinet and came back with two bottles. Severin wasn’t a potions master. He knew the basics, but he didn’t recognize the potions Hugh was holding. He uncorked the larger bottle and poured some of the translucent-pink liquid directly into the bath.

“This will soothe the pain,” Hugh explained and then moved onto the second bottle. “Drink,” he ordered, holding it to Severin’s lips. 

His body gave him no choice and greedily drank the offered potion. Hugh didn’t explain what this one was for, but what did Severin care? He almost hoped it was poison. At least then this would all be over. 

Drowsiness and fatigue hit him like a minotaur, and as the darkness fought to claim him, he realized the potion’s purpose. 

He slept. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay! I had difficulty deciding where to cut this chapter off and decided to end it earlier than expected. Thankfully that just means I have more of the next chapter written already! Anyway, enjoy and comment if you do. They're seriously the motivation I need. 
> 
> Oh, and apologies for any typos/errors. This story isn't edited (except by me but I've been known to miss stuff). <3

Consciousness was an elusive bastard. Every time he managed to rouse himself, it slipped through his fingers like oil and back into the dreamless void he fell. There, he floated, weightless and thoughtless, until he woke again, and the cycle repeated. 

Until, finally, it didn't. 

His stirred, flexing muscles that felt heavy and sluggish. His eyes refused to cooperate, weighted with grogginess, but he used his other senses to get a feel for his environment. Soft, plush textures revealed he was wrapped up in a bed. Definitely not his own, which was worn down from age and use. It smelled freshly laundered, a mixture of citrus and floral. 

An unidentifiable sound gave him a burst of fight-or-flight-adrenaline, enough that his eyes snapped open, seeking out the source. 

He met the harsh gaze of an eagle-sized bird. Severin may not know a lot about animals, but even he knew he was looking at a vulture of some sort. Dark grey with a rust-colored underside. Its forehead was soft cream, but its eyes were a piercing yellow encircled by crimson. Strangely, it looked like it had a whispy, black beard. 

The vulture made that strange sound again, a loud call, and continued to watch him. It had, more than likely, had been watching him for a while. 

What. The. Absolute. Fuck.

Jittery with adrenaline, Severin pushed himself up, wearily eyeing those piercing talons and sharp beak. 

When he was relatively sure the bird wasn't about to attack, he gave the room a quick study. Though the bed was luxurious, the room itself was bare with plain white walls, a white ceiling, and bright white lights overhead. Even the door across the way was painted white. 

Said door swung open without warning, and Hugh stepped in. 

Severin was out of bed faster than he thought his aching body was capable of, but several problems befell him all at once. One, something unexpectedly heavy around his neck made him lose balance. As he fell and hit the floor, a sharp pain clawed at his insides (just in case he'd forgotten what Lucien had done). Then, once out from under the warmth of the covers, he realized he was only wearing a pair of boxers. Boxers that definitely weren't his. 

He scrambled to his feet, as terrified as he was embarrassed, and the rattling of metal alerted him to the horrifying fact that he was chained to the bedpost by a leather collar fastened around his neck.

Humiliated though he was, he faced Hugh with bold defiance. 

Looking at him was a mistake, a physical assault to his senses. Hugh's magic washed over him like a tsunami, and Severin's instincts called for him to get lost in its current. Drown, be consumed. 

Few could feel magic like he could, but even a mundane person would be able to sense  _ this _ . Charisma, they called it. When someone walked into a room and all eyes turned to them, everyone desiring their attention even if only for a fleeting moment. Hugh could make you feel special, make you feel like the only person in the room, and therein lied his true power. Severin had witnessed it firsthand. Even without displaying his magic like a peacock displaying its feathers, Hugh was magnetic. 

And now, with Hugh making no effort to contain his power, Severin was being drawn closer. It was impossible to look away from the amethyst storm dressed in an expensive suit, and Severin curled his lip in disgust just to contradict his body's rising interest. 

Hugh looked amused. “Kneel. Greet your master properly.” 

Severin tensed. Just the thought of doing so— “Make me.” It was madness to provoke a madman, but fear made him irrational. How many times had he worsened his father's rages by talking back when he  _ knew _ the consequences? 

“As you wish,” Hugh replied evenly. “Bow. Forehead to the floor.”

This time, his body complied. His forehead hit the tile with force, muscles eager to obey, and Severin gritted his teeth as Hugh approached, the click of his fancy boots pausing in front of him. 

“I don't want to hurt you, trinket. When I ask you to do something, I expect you to obey. If you refuse, I will make you do worse. If you won't kneel, you'll bow. If you won't answer a question, I'll have you spilling your darkest secrets. Have I made myself clear?” 

“Yes,” Severin growled, hating, hating,  _ hating  _ how he longed for the feel of Hugh's magic against his skin. Lucien's was but a lightbulb compared to this burning sun, and Severin was in danger of flying too close, of being burned alive. 

His reply must have been satisfying because Hugh's magic released him, and as his senses were cleared, he was able to push himself to his knees, jingling the chain around his neck. 

He felt like a tethered dog. 

“It hurts me to cage you, trinket,” Hugh said with faux remorse. 

“Then let me go,” Severin said, as if it were that simple. 

“I think not,” Hugh said sharply, possessiveness in every word. “When a fly wanders so willingly into its web, does the spider feel the need to release it?” 

Severin didn't like that analogy at all. “I'm confused,” he said, deadpan. “Do you want to eat me or fuck me?” 

Hugh's smile was ambiguous. “I have business to attend to, but first you have a choice to make.”

“I haven't changed my mind,” Severin said. “I won't join you.”

“Yes, you've made that quite clear,” Hugh replied, thankfully sounding amused. “No, the choice is this. Come to me. Kneel.”

Remembering Hugh's earlier threat, Severin understood exactly what choice he was making when he said, “No.”

His captor wasn't at all surprised. “A shame.” Hugh took a look around the room before turning back to Severin. “Do you know how the council breaks new recruits?” 

Severin had a logical guess, and it made his stomach drop. 

“They steal children from their families, and those that don't immediately adjust—a few months in a room like this makes them much more pliable.”

It was well known that councilors liked to collect sorcerers with unique and powerful abilities, but the council claimed it was all volunteer based. Some parents, the council claimed, couldn't handle the difficulty of raising a child with special magical needs, so they willingly surrendered their children. 

It was a lie society had agreed to accept because there  _ were  _ dangerous powers, ones that shouldn't be unleashed upon the public. 

Like Hugh's. 

Realization lit his gaze, and he lifted his eyes to meet Hugh's. “Did they use it to break you?” 

Hugh bared his teeth in a predatory smile. “You  _ are  _ perceptive, aren't you?” 

His loathing for the council made a lot of sense now. 

“When I visit again, perhaps you'll feel more cooperative.” He took a few steps towards the door and held out an arm. “Come, Jivani.”

The vulture flew to his offered arm like a hawk to a falconer, and then they left. 

Severin watched the door until his anxiety began to retreat. Only then did he dare look away. Not that there was anything else to look at. It was all white. Everything from the door to the chain to his underwear.

He shivered. 

His hands immediately went to the collar, checking for a mechanism to unlock it and finding nothing. He couldn't get it off, and he couldn't unhook the chain. The bed he was chained to was bolted to the ground, so he was well and truly stuck. Not surprising but he had to exhaust every possibility.

He looked around, scanning the room—and suddenly realized something was wrong. Something but what? He searched and his eyes fell on the chain dragging across the ground. 

It was silent. 

He hummed, testing his theory, and even though he could feel the vibrations in his throat, he couldn't hear them. 

The room was under some sort of silencing spell. 

There was nothing he could do about that, so he continued exploring. First, he tested how far the chain would allow him to go, and, as expected, he couldn't even get within five feet of the door. Tracing the perimeter of the room, he ran his hands along the walls to search for imperfections. Nothing. All he discovered was a small watercloset that contained a white porcelain toilet. 

After he'd explored every inch of his prison—even using his sensate sight, desperate to find anything helpful—he climbed under the white covers to try to escape the blindingly bright light. 

Sleep didn't come for a long time. 

  
  
  
  


Hugh didn't return. 

Severin had no idea how much time had passed since he left because the oppressive lights never so much as flickered. A dull ache began behind his eyes a while ago, and covering his head didn't help because the blanket wasn't thick enough to block out all of the light. 

No one was impervious to psychological torture. Everyone had a breaking point, so coming up with a swift escape plan was his number one priority. 

Problem was, his options were very limited. He had no access to magic (apart from his sensate abilities) unless he could steal someone else's focus. Of course, taking another sorcerer's focus was very difficult without access to magic. Severin wasn't a stranger to brawls, but he wasn't built for them. He won fights because he fought with a viciousness others reserved for life-or-death situations. 

Fighting his way out was looking less and less likely, and the only other logical option he could imagine was to feign compliance. To submit and let Hugh think he'd won. Pride was all he had to lose, and after Lucien had—

Lucien had raped him. 

Why did it feel like a—a revelation? 

_Because there hasn't been time to process_ _it until now,_ logic replied. 

This was no time to process it either, but Severin was suddenly suffocating under the weight of his own shame. Nausea churned in his empty gut, and he took a shuddering breath. 

_ That bruising grip.  _

_ The sound and feeling of flesh against flesh.  _

_ Behind him, the hitch in Lucien's breath.  _

He was drowning in an avalanche of disgust. 

_ Pull yourself together. It's not over yet.  _

Severin sat against the wall furthest from the door and buried his head in his hands, the only relief from the unblemished white of his prison. 

  
  
  
  


They were starving him to death, Severin decided. His stomach rumbled hungrily, and his tongue felt like cotton in his mouth. Hunger was no stranger, but he'd always had water to douse it and ways to distract himself. Here, in this room, there was nothing. 

What an undignified end. 

Severin wasn't some epic hero who craved a worthy death, but he hadn't expected his life to end in such a pitiful way. After surviving countless beatings from his father and relentless bullying in school, it seemed almost ridiculous to die starved and forgotten in Lord Wraith's dungeons. 

Then again, it was almost fitting. 

  
  
  
  


The door opened, and Severin was assaulted by sight, sound, and scent all at once. 

Hugh, wearing a blue themed suit that emphasized his eyes, walked a few feet into the room. The click of his boots was like music to Severin's ears, and the aroma coming from the tray he carried was mouthwatering. 

“Hungry, trinket?” 

Obviously. “Yes,” Severin croaked, throat dry and voice rusty. 

“Then come kneel.” Hugh gestured to the floor in front of him expectantly. 

This was what he'd been mentally preparing himself for. To obey the orders that cost him nothing but his pride.  _ Earn trust so you can escape.  _ That was the plan. 

Severin slipped from the bed, noticing how the chain rattled, and knelt in front of the man. 

Hugh smiled like a scientist observing his favorite labrat. “Good. Open.”

To Severin's disgust, Hugh brought the white spoon of broth towards him expectantly. To feed him as if he were a child. 

_ Nothing but pride.  _

Hunger won out, and he opened his mouth. 

The broth was thin but flavorful enough to overshadow the humiliation of being fed spoonful by spoonful. 

When the broth was finished, Hugh poured him a cup of water and held it to his lips.

Severin drank it greedily, instantly relieving his parched throat, but it wasn't enough. When he looked up he found Hugh looking down at him expectantly. 

“Thank you,” Severin said, so perfectly docile and gracious. 

“You're to call me master from this moment on,” Hugh said. 

_ Nothing but pride. _ Oh, but how it felt like taking a razorblade to the soul. “Not 'my lord?'” A far more tolerable honorific. 

“My followers call me their lord.  _ You _ are a pet.”

In other words, Severin was beneath them. “Yes, Master.”

“Good boy.”

_ Nothing but pride.  _

His attempt to appear pleased with the praise must have worked because Hugh refilled the cup of water. 

“Your friend must care deeply for you,” Hugh commented. 

Severin, who had been drinking from the cup Hugh held, choked. 

“She's already been to see Lucien, demanding to know where you are.”

Icy terror raked his insides, but Hugh's previous threat against Ella kept him from speaking carelessly. “Please,” he coughed. “Please, Master, don't hurt her.”

Sharp blue eyes studied him, picking him apart. Severin itched to cover himself but didn't dare offer insult while begging for Ella's safety. 

“And what would you give for her safety?” 

What did he have  _ left _ to give? Hugh already held him prisoner. What more could he take? 

“Anything.”

Ella was worth so much more than him, and if there was a chance he could get her immunity from this war, at least his suffering wouldn't be meaningless. 

Hugh gave him a cruel smile and headed for the door. 

“Wait!” Severin pleaded, terrified for Ella's safety. “Please!” 

The door slammed closed, taking the sound from the room with it. .

No matter how much noise he tried to make, no matter how hard he pounded and clawed at the walls, Hugh didn't come back. 

Severin screamed into the void until his throat was hoarse. 

  
  
  
  


He knew Hugh had to be watching him, watching his slow descent into madness. In the odd chance that whatever obscure silencing spell Hugh had used still allowed Hugh to hear him, Severin continued to bargain, beg, and plead for what felt like days, offering his life, his loyalty, and even his service if he would spare Ella. 

Because Severin would serve Hades himself to save her life. 

Silence answered him. 

  
  
  
  


“Sev.”

Severin's eyes snapped open. 

Ella hovered over him on the bed, pale, translucent, and forlorn. 

A ghost. Ella was a ghost. She was  _ dead _ . 

“Ella.” He choked on a sob, pierced by grief. 

No, no, no! 

He'd failed her. 

“He killed me,” she said. “Why did you let him kill me?” 

“I didn't! I tried to stop him!” he cried.

“Where were you? I needed you, and you weren't there.” 

Severin tried to reply, but his voice no longer worked. The room wouldn't let him talk. 

Her face darkened, twisted with hate. “It should have been you.”

He wept, wanting to deny it, but she was right. 

“My son lost his mother. You have nothing, no one. Who would miss you? It should have been you!” 

He woke up in a sweat, shaking with residual terror. 

  
  
  
  


The nightmares continued.

He dreamed of Ella's ghost. 

He dreamed of Lucien coming back for round two. 

He dreamed of trying and failing to escape (which usually ended in him being tortured nearly to death).

He dreamed of being rescued only to find himself dragged to prison for the death of the Griffith family. 

Sometimes, when exhaustion dragged him under, he woke to find a bowl of broth and a cup of water—which he quickly consumed despite his increasing suicidal ideation. If he starved himself, after all, this would all end.  


Eventually, Severin avoided sleeping altogether, which unsurprisingly didn't improve his exhaustion. The back of his eyelids was the only escape from the blinding lights and dreams the only escape from the deafening silence. 

White encompassed every second of his life, every fiber of his being. 

He'd never hated a color so much. 

From white sheets to white tile to white skin, it eventually began to blend. Alabaster walls were closing in on him, suffocating. 

When he could take no more, he scratched his arms until they bled—but, oh, the crimson was like unearthing golden ore. Streaks of color among a blank canvas and fingertips like paintbrushes. 

  
  
  
  


“Quirin.”

Severin jerked awake, heart pounding. He hadn't heard her voice in years, but he would never forget it. “Mum?” 

No answer. 

It wasn't until later Severin remembered that the room was under a silencing spell. 

The voice had been in his head. 

  
  
  
  


“You should have told someone,” his mother whispered to him at night. 

Severin had spent so many nights thinking the same thing. He'd done what he could to protect his mother, but he'd failed. 

It was all his fault. 

He'd gotten his mother killed just like he was going to get Ella killed—or was she already dead? Was it too late? 

  
  
  
  


Hugh still didn't return. 

What did it say about Severin that he wished Hugh would? 

He was breaking. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I made my New Year deadline! Lol. It's been a crazy month, and I had so much difficulty deciding which way to take this chapter. I must have rewritten it three times at least. Enjoy, and Happy New Year! I'm going to try to have the next chapter out in 2 weeks (so, by the end of the 14th of Jan). Apologies for typos, as always!

By the time Hugh returned, Severin had lost his voice, and the cool water he was given did little to help. He drank it greedily regardless. Maybe he should have refused, stubbornly held out until he died of dehydration and freed himself from this madness, but he'd become a creature of instinct. Stripped down to nothing more than the need to survive, time reduced to the now. 

The question of Ella's fate was the only constant, the thread holding him to reality, but without a voice, he couldn't ask. Since Hugh didn't seem inclined to bring it up unprompted, he was forced to accept ignorance. 

Maybe not knowing was best. 

Hugh cleaned the gouges in his arms with gentle, methodical care, and Severin listened to him talk, not focusing on the individual words but rather the sound of each syllable as it shattered the silence and kept his ouroboros thoughts at bay. 

It was bliss—and it was calculated to be that way. 

Hugh was meticulous, ensuring he was Severin's only source of comfort. Food, water, color, sound, and human interaction—it all came from Hugh and only Hugh. He didn't just want to control Severin; he wanted Severin to  _ need  _ him. 

Part of him recognized every manipulation, but that didn't keep them from working. 

Psychology was an indifferent bitch. 

Severin suddenly noticed Hugh was watching him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer of some sort. It seemed safest to agree, so he nodded, hoping that was an adequate response. 

Hugh gave a knowing smile, and Severin tensed, fearing retribution, but none came. Hugh simply continued talking until he finished his task. “There. That's better, isn't it? Now, how about something to eat, pet?” 

Severin rarely felt hunger anymore, but he nodded, if only to delay Hugh's inevitable departure. As predicted, when he'd emptied the bowl, Hugh didn't linger. 

If he'd been able, Severin would have begged him to stay, and when he broke down sobbing, he couldn't tell if it was because he craved Hugh like his body craved oxygen or from the shame of it all. 

  
  
  
  


The endless barrage of voices was the only thing louder than the roaring silence of the white room, and he'd long ago learned that covering his ears did nothing. 

“Leo and Cyrus were right about you. Look how easily it was to turn you. You  _ want  _ to serve him don't you? You always did.”

No, that wasn't true. He'd been attracted to the idea of no longer being powerless, attracted to the promise of recognition—but he'd given all of it up when faced with Ella's ultimatum. 

_ You gave up everything for her friendship, and what did she do in return?  _ a new voice whispered, sounding far too much like Hugh.  _ Marry one of the men who tormented you for years. How is that a fair trade?  _

Severin scratched his arms. 

  
  
  
  


“I warned you about that family, Quirin. Did you really think Lucien Renard ever saw you as more than a pawn?” 

_ You were attracted to his power, his wealth, his beauty.  _

"If I'd never had you, I could have left your father. I could have been happy.”

_ Her family was never going to accept a mongrel into the family. Your birth was her downfall.  _

Severin scratched his legs. 

  
  
  
  


“I killed her because of you. If she'd birthed a normal son, if you weren't such a freak, everything would have been different.”

Severin scratched his face

  
  
  
  


The door opened, and the approaching footsteps echoed off the walls. 

“My poor trinket. What have you done to yourself this time?” 

Severin looked up from where he sat with his back to the wall. Hugh towered over him, looking down in concern. 

Was this another hallucination? 

“What happened?” 

Severin looked at them. His arms and legs were a bloody mess, but how could he explain the nagging need to scratch them or the relief it gave him? “Itchy,” he said at last, testing his voice. It was rusty, but at least it no longer hurt to speak. 

Hugh made a sympathetic sound and reached down to caress his head. If Severin leaned into that brief physical contact, so what? Why shouldn't he take what relief he could get? 

To crave comfort was not a sin. 

A single finger tipped Severin's chin up, and Hugh captured his gaze. “Did you hurt yourself on purpose, trinket?” 

Self-harm hadn't been the intent. Just an end result. “I don't think so.”

Hugh's head tilted, and he dropped his hand. “You don't know?” 

Severin hesitated. His exact thought process was a distant, hazy memory. “No.”

“My poor trinket. We must get you out of this room before it drives you mad. Would you like that, pet?” Hugh said—as if he wasn't the reason Severin was trapped in here. 

He decided not to point that out. “Yes, Master.” 

If Hugh wanted him to beg, kneel, or bend over in exchange, it didn't matter. He  _ needed _ to get out of this room. This was no longer about escaping Hugh's grasp. It was about getting out of this room before it took every ounce of his sanity. 

Hugh made a sympathetic sound. “We'll see, trinket. First, do you remember our last conversation?” 

Severin stared, racking his brain, but he had no idea what Hugh meant. “N—no, Master,” he admitted, afraid of disappointing him. 

Hugh's smile widened. “Your little friend. Ella Griffith.”

_ Ella. _ Severin swallowed, afraid of the news he was about to receive. “You said she was—that she was causing you trouble.” 

Evidently, Hugh liked that wording very much. “Yes. Quite a nuisance,” he agreed, running his fingers through Severin's raven locks. 

The sensation was polarizing. It was like basking in the sun but being doused by a bucket of cold water, and it left Severin shivering just the same. Every muscle tensed in anticipation—but pain never came. 

Hugh hummed soothingly and kept petting Severin's head until he relaxed ever so slightly. “You needn't worry. She's safe and sound at home. No one has touched her—my gift to you.”

Severin almost choked on overwhelming relief. “Thank you, Master,” he said, bowing his head to emphasize his gratitude. 

“You see?” Hugh continued to stroke his hair, gentle and with the adoration of a lover. “Everything is much better when you behave. When you obey.”

The patronizing praise should have ignited his need to rebel, but Severin was just  _ tired _ . Tired of hurting, tired of caring, tired of fighting. Later, when the apathy subsided, he would be ashamed of surrendering, but now—now it was like sinking into bed after a day of grueling work. 

Neither spoke, and Hugh didn't stop his tender ministrations. Gentle and rhythmical, he continued until the line between repulsion and reassurance blurred in Servos' mind. Until he almost sank into his touch. 

“Are you ready to obey, trinket?” 

It was simultaneously the hardest and easiest choice he'd ever made. “Yes, Master.”

“That's a good pet.”

Hugh's amethyst magic X, a peacock making a dazzling displaying. The power lapped at Severin's skin like a flame, and he trembled at the intensity. After the sensory deprivation he'd endured, it hurt, like exposing dark-adjusted eyes to the sun. 

“As long as you behave, you'll never see the inside of this cell again. I don't want to lock you up, trinket. You know that, don't you?” 

“Yes, Master,” Severin said, knowing what Hugh wanted to hear. 

“Very good, but I need you to prove yourself before I can let you out. Can you do that for your master?” 

Could he? He had no choice. Whatever it was, he had to. “Yes, Master.”

Hugh grinned, a smile full of teeth and  _ promise. _ “Go ahead, my clever pet. Prove your dedication.” 

Prove it? How? 

Only one answer came to mind. 

At present, Severin had only one thing to give, and because he couldn't quantify how long it had been since he'd gotten to bath, even that was limited. 

He crawled forward until he was kneeling between Hugh's legs. It was obvious what he intended, and if Hugh's expression was sincere, he was very pleased, but rushing would get him nowhere. This wasn't about sex. It was about power. Hugh wanted to be worshipped, and if Severin wanted to get out of this room, he had to put on a show. 

Severin lowered himself to kiss Hugh's polished boots with the reverence one might show a god. The slacks were silk against Severin's lips, and he found himself running his hands up and down the backs of Hugh's well-defined legs. He kissed a trail up one, pausing at the thigh long enough to build anticipation. 

A hand grabbed his hair and tugged, forcing Severin to meet Hugh's eyes, dark with arousal. “Enough, trinket. Get to the main event.”

Severin licked his lips as Hugh traced the collar around his throat. “Yes, Master.” As soon as his hair was released, he shakily undid the belt and slacks confining Hugh's obvious erection. Once it was free—gods, once it was free, the reality of his situation hit him. 

How could he have once imagined surrendering would cost him nothing but his pride? 

Before he could lose the nerve to continue, Severin leaned closer. He loved cocks—and he'd never been ashamed of that fact—but he was relieved to find he felt not a hint of desire for Hugh's. 

A blessing and a curse. 

Arousal would certainly make this task easier to lose himself in, but the shame of enjoying it—that shame might have truly broken him. 

Severin pressed a chaste kiss to the rosy tip, noting the subtle twitch of muscle, before swiping his tongue against the underside. The taste—it was like fine dining after a lifetime of gruel. It sickened him that he enjoyed it, but after being deprived of every sensation—after being subjected to only bland—everything else was extraordinary. 

Like discovering the world for the first time. 

He didn't dare delay a moment longer and opened wide, taking Hugh into his mouth as far as was comfortable. It had been long, too long, since he'd done this. Minding his teeth, combating his gag reflexes—it was difficult, and he knew his technique was rusty. 

Finally, measured, even breaths through his nose enabled him to take Hugh deeper. 

That elicited an appreciative hum, the first sound Hugh had made. 

Good. That was good. All Severin had to do was—

Hugh wrapped a hand around his throat, grip crushing. 

Severin choked, tears forming, and he instinctively froze like a dog being scuffed. 

“Keep going,” Hugh demanded, but his grip never loosened. 

Mouth full of cock and windpipe half-crushed, Severin could only whimper because he  _ couldn't.  _ He couldn't continue, and he couldn't breathe. 

Hugh squeezed until darkness edged his vision and only then loosened his grip. “Such a good boy, trinket. You make your master very happy.”

Blinking back tears, Severin resumed sucking as soon as he was able, desperate for this to end. His throat throbbed with pain, but he forced enthusiasm into every moment, moaning as though he couldn't get enough of being debased and abused. 

Hugh  _ loved  _ it, eyes sinking closed and head thrown back. 

Keeping one hand clenching Severin's throat, he wrapped the other around the back of his head. As soon as he did, Severin knew what was coming, but that didn't help him prepare for it. 

Hugh squeezed his throat once more and used his other grip to set the pace  _ he  _ wanted, fucking Severin's mouth with wild abandon. 

It was brutal. 

“You were made for this, trinket. Made for  _ me. _ ”

Saliva and tears dripped from Severin's chin, but Hugh was choking him so tightly he couldn't be bothered to care. He was nothing more than a ragdoll now, a tool for Hugh to take his pleasure from. Hovering on the verge of consciousness, he almost didn't register Hugh's finishing moan. 

Hugh lessened his grip in warning, and Severin instinctively swallowed, drinking every drop of hot, salty seed without needing to be told. All of his past lovers had preferred it, and a man like this—a man like this would demand it. 

Even when no more came, Severin didn't dare move. 

“Mmm. I could keep you like this forever. Lips wrapped around my cock, keeping me warm.”

Severin stared at him, wondering if his eyes were as empty as he felt. 

Hugh tugged at his hair, indicating he could let go, so Severin did. “You did well, trinket. Better than I imagined. Now, your master always keeps his promises, so let's leave this place, shall we?” The end of Severin's leash flew to Hugh's outstretched hand and he walked to the door. 

Severin wasn't sure he had the energy to move, but the collar around his neck meant he had no choice—and even if it took the last of his strength, he  _ would  _ be leaving this room. He rose on shaking limbs and followed Hugh out of the white room. 


	8. Author's Note

First of all, I'm sorry for disappointing you with an author update instead of a chapter. I feel so terribly guilty for being late, and I wasn't sure how else to communicate with y'all.

2021 began with a bang for me. I lost both of my my parrotlets in a single night, and last week my husband's grandmother passed away, prompting a 16 hour drive to Texas for her funeral. 

Needless to say, my mental health has suffered, and writing has become harder. I'm in no way abandoning this story or any other. I'm just writing a lot slower.

Sorry everyone! Definitely expect an update by the end of the month. <3

Feel free to let me know what you're most looking forward to in Trinket. Tell me what you would like to see. Tell me what you like, don't like, anything. It'll help motivate me. :) 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt at a story as dark as this one intends to be. I love feedback. Comments fuel my desire to write and will get you updates quicker! Post questions, suggestions, comments, or even critiques! If you like what you see here, stick around. It's my hope that I'll be updating once a week or two. 
> 
> If you're looking for more to read in the meantime, check out my profile here. I also have a few published books and more information can be found about them [here](https://www.amazon.com/Amelia-R-Moore/e/B075PY95W6/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1). Try a free sample! :D
> 
> Consider joining my facebook group to stay up-to-date on my latest projects: [Moore Fiction](https://www.facebook.com/groups/719402408517090/).


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